The Company We Keep
by Sanima
Summary: Running a merc crew is never easy; Claw had always prided herself on her work, but keeping her boys out of trouble is proving more difficult than usual. With winter bearing down and a strange trio on their tail, she'll be lucky to reach the Hudson Bay with her sanity and person intact. AU, pre-FO3. No fluff, but plenty of broken bones and blood. M for violence, language and drugs.
1. Chapter 1

((Hi there, everyone! Thanks for taking the time to click. I promise to keep this brief.

This is a redo of an overly-ambitious project I started several years ago. In fact, today is the two-year anniversary of the last time I updated the orignal. If any of you have read it, I hope you like my new outlook (and decidedly longer attention span). If you haven't, hooray! No spoilers!

These first few chapters are mostly an introduction of characters (and I swear to god, you'll see someone familiar soon), so forgive the slow pace. Things won't stay boring for long.

Ok, I'm done.))

The general store was quiet that day, a few customers browsing halfheartedly. The smell of freshly tanned leather and the sweeter tang of oil were thick in the hot air, making the late September afternoon all the more stifling. A pair of boys, one just entering his teens and the other nearly out, wandered the racks and shelves.

The elder of the two gazed over the merchandise with bright green eyes, moving slowly but steadily all around the small shop. Six foot two inches and extremely thin, his dirty black hair hung just past his shoulders, framing a long face and perpetual smirk. He had tried to shave himself a goatee, but the effect was lessened by numerous patches of missed whiskers. His hands rested in the pockets of a knee-length brown coat; long, bony fingers tapped a restless cadence against his thighs.

His younger companion kept on his heels like a miniature shadow, frowning up at him from under a mop of white-blonde hair. The boy's yellow eyes were narrowed distrustfully; a good two feet shorter, he glowered up at the older boy every time he stopped to inspect something. His face was just beginning to lose its childlike roundness, still soft and relatively unmarred.

A short woman standing by the counter gave them a mistrusting glance. Just entering her later twenties, five foot three and thin as a rail, she wasn't a particularly imposing presence, but wore a look that implied she was used to getting her way. A short, fat scar cut through the left half of her lips; a longer, ropy one ran from her right temple down the cheek, the thinnest one running across the bridge of her nose. Twin pairs of needle-sharp claws, each an inch long, hung from both earlobes. She tugged one absentmindedly as she glanced behind her at the boys.

Dark hazel eyes met the older boy's green ones; she gave him a brief, withering stare. He grinned back, sharp canines making the rather unsettling expression even less reassuring.

_Watch him_ close,' she mouthed at the younger boy, then returned her attention to the shop owner, forced to crane her neck to meet his eyes.

"That won't cut it, Brian," she told him.

Tall and wide-shouldered, the man's short-cropped brown hair and beard framed a good-natured, broad face. He stared back at the woman with barely-contained irritation.

"I'm offering an extra five hundred caps here, Claw." Brian leaned forward, resting his palms on the counter. "You've always done good work, I don't want to have to give the contract to someone else."

Claw crossed her arms across her flat chest and gave him a disapproving stare.

"It's too late. We'd never make it back before winter. I'd be giving the 'bonus' right back in supplies, and that trip isn't worth a thousand in _summer_." She pushed a strand of dingy brown hair back underneath the kerchief wrapped over her head. "Twenty five hundred, a thousand up front."

Brian frowned right back.

"That's completely unreasonable. You know I'll give you a five percent discount on supplies."

Claw shrugged one shoulder.

"I also need ammunition, spare parts, medical supplies- I'm not being unreasonable, I'm telling you I'd rather not go north when the season's changing unless it's worth my while. Now can you make me a real offer, or-"

"_Claw_! He's touching stuff!" The blonde boy was waving both arms frantically, while the older one held his hands above his head.

Claw's upper lip twisted into a snarl.

"Boys, I'm a bit busy here," she snapped, "can I not leave you to yourselves for _five goddamn minutes_?"

"I don't know what Cutter's squawking about." The elder boy was trying to sound innocent, and failing miserably. "I didn't do anything."

"Spike, I swear to-" Claw pinched the bridge of her nose with a short sigh, scrunching up the scar that ran across it. "Get over here. Both of you."

The older boy sauntered toward her, hands still at shoulder level and grinning crookedly. Cutter scurried ahead of him to stand right next to Claw, watching Spike as though he expected him to bite.

"How's business?" Spike drawled, clapping a bony hand on Claw's left shoulder. "Besides taking forever. I'm bored." Claw shut her eyes and ground her teeth briefly.

"Stand right there, close your mouth, and keep it that way." She glared at him. "Did you get all that? I _will_ go slower if you need me to."

Brian watched the exchange with bored irritation, tapping his thick fingers on the counter. Spike gave the man another unsettling grin and clasped his hands behind his head.

"Got it, boss. Don't let me interrupt."

Claw raised her eyes skyward, jaw ticking twice. Brian cleared his throat.

"As we were saying," he began, clearly beginning to lose patience, "five hundred is a sizable bonus. I'm willing to give it to you up front, along with the usual advance."

Claw shook her head once.

"As we were saying," she repeated, "you're asking me to head out for Canada. In September. Good luck finding anyone else dumb enough to do it. Twenty five hundred."

"Sixteen."

"Twenty five."

Brian scrubbed a hand through his short brown hair.

"Eighteen," he huffed.

"Twenty five," Claw repeated dully. "I may be dumb enough to take the job, but I'm not getting suckered because your spring delivery ran late. I _hate_ getting suckered, Brian."

The man let out a long, grumbling sigh, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"Two thousand," he grumbled, "and you can have your damned thousand up front."

"Done," Claw replied briskly. "When do we leave?"

Brian sighed again, obviously less than thrilled with the bargain struck.

"Two days. Samuel will be here with the Brahmin at dawn."

Claw nodded once.

"We'll be here. Start the tab. Five pounds of jerky, and none of that gristly shit. I'm not paying for gristle."

Brian glared at her, silently picking up a pencil and scrawling across a pad of paper.

"Five pounds of beans," Claw continued. "Two cartons of cigarettes, one hundred feet of good rope, a tent, I need our boots repaired, a case each of vodka and whisky, thirty six cans of Cram-"

"Didn't I sell you a tent last year?" Brian interrupted, still scribbling across the paper.

Claw closed her eyes with a pained expression.

"It caught on fire," she said through gritted teeth. Beside her, Cutter snickered, and was rewarded with a hard shove on the shoulder. Claw ignored the injured look on the boy's face, reaching behind her just in time to grab Spike by the back of his jacket as he tried to slip back amongst the shelves.

"I told you to stand _still_," she snarled.

"You didn't tell me how long," he retorted, adjusting the jacket carefully. "Be more specific next time, boss."

Claw gripped the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, deep breath. "Why do you do this to me. Your brain is broken, you-"

"Dumber than a sack of potatoes, because potatoes used to be alive, gotcha," Spike finished for her, brushing off his lapels. "Weren't you buying me a new ammo belt? My rifle strap's getting pretty frayed, too. Oh, and make it three cartons of smokes. You know we'll go through them."

Claw nodded at Brian, still gripping her nose. "That, too. Cutter? What else?"

The boy squinted his yellow eyes thoughtfully. "Traps, and plenty of wire," he suggested. "Lighter fluid, and turpentine. Oh, and we should get some of that cheese."

"You're the only one that likes the shit," Spike snarked. "Tastes like the inside of a Radscorpion and smells three times as bad."

"Don't eat it then, stupid," Cutter snapped back. "I don't know how you'd know what it smells like, over your own stench."

Spike gave his armpit a sniff.

"I smell fine," he said decisively.

"I can smell you from here," Cutter shot back, "and you smell like week-old roadkill."

Claw stared at Brian hopelessly as the two continued to bicker.

"They won't stop," she told him bleakly. "It never stops. God damn it, I'm getting a headache. What's our total so far?"

Brian continued to write, looking up after a moment.

"Six hundred and fify even, after the discount. Bring the boots by tonight, I'll have them and the tent ready with Samuel."

Claw gave him a humorless smile. "See? There goes your 'bonus'. I apologize in advance for his boots," she jerked a thumb at Spike and raised her voice slightly, "he _does_ smell like week-old carrion."

The young man shrugged. "Whatever, Claw. I've had to wash your socks after a few weeks in the field. I puked for two days."

"We're not IN-" Claw cut herself off. "Brian, socks too. Fifteen pairs."

"Six hundred and seventy two caps," he replied. "Do you want it taken from the advance or end payment?"

Claw thumbed one of her earrings for a moment, head snapping back around when the boys began to tussle. Spike had Cutter's head trapped in his armpit, the smaller boy struggling furiously to get away. His muffled screeches of indignation were nearly drowned out by Spike's cackling.

"_**Enough**_!" the woman roared. She lunged at Spike, grabbed him by the ear, and twisted.

"_Ow_ ow owowow fuckme OW," he yelped, releasing Cutter and falling to one knee. The younger boy staggered back a step, then took a carefully aimed kick at Spike's backside.

"Asshole," Cutter seethed, running his fingers angrily through his hair.

Still gripping Spike's ear, Claw yanked him to his feet and dragged him to the door. The guards posted outside raised their weapons briefly as the pair burst into the late summer afternoon, then relaxed as Claw proceeded to knock the young man into the dirt and slap him mercilessly.

"What have I _told_ you!" she screamed, flecks of spittle flying from her mouth. "About embarrassing me! In front! Of! _**Clients**_!"

"He started it," Spike protested, arms raised in defense. "He said I stink!"

"_**You do fucking stink!**_" Claw screeched, "_you smell like an open sewer_! I can hardly stand to be in the same room as you, I know you can smell it, now get the fuck out of my sight before I shoot you in the gut!"

Panting, kerchief askew on her mat of short brown hair, she gave Spike one last slap and pushed herself to her feet. She glanced at each of the guards, who were both grinning at her.

"The fuck you looking at?" she snapped. Spike picked himself up slowly, prodding the back of his head with a wince. Red welts, several in the full shape of a hand, were spreading across his face.

"That was a good one, boss." He grabbed the back of his coat and shook it vigorously, sending a cloud of dust into the air. "I mean, I was distracted, but you were quick. I shouldn't have fallen for the ear trick. That was stupid- I'll do better next time."

"Oh god." Claw gripped her head in both hands. "You are making me so angry. Go, just _go_."

"Where?" Spike crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "I'm broke." His unsettling grin spread across his face. "Oh, go get the advance. We should take it all in caps and get wasted."

"My _God_," Claw yelled, "shut up! Just shut the fuck up!" She let out a single strangled laugh, which sounded suspiciously like a bark. "Listen. For just ten seconds."

Spike gave her an indecisive look, then shrugged and nodded once. Claw took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Go back to the room." She made a noise of disgust. "Go _bathe_. If I can't smell you and you haven't started any fights by the time we get back, we'll get drunk. We'll get so fucking drunk I'll forget how much I honestly want to kill you. Deal?"

"Do I have to use soap?" His tone implied that she was being completely unreasonable.

"Yes." Claw gripped her head a little tighter. "You have to use soap. Wash your fucking hair, too, it looks like you're wearing a dead badger on your head."

"And then I can drink all I want. _All_ I want."

"You know what?" Claw threw her hands into the air. "Fine. All you want. I'm going to regret this, but if you're clean and haven't fought with anyone, I'll let you make an asshole of yourself until you pass out in your own vomit."

Spike grinned, canines just brushing his bottom lip. "Deal, boss. I'm not going to pass out, though."

"You're still here. That wasn't part of the deal. Go. Go go go go go, go go GO." Claw stomped her foot for emphasis. Spike, still pretending that brushing at his jacket was somehow making it more presentable, raised his eyebrow again.

"Careful, I'm going to start thinking you don't want me around. You'll hurt my feelings." The thick sarcasm in his voice pressed on Claw's last nerve; her fingers twitched by her right hip. The .44 magnum pistol holstered there was fully loaded, and the urge to pull back the hammer was getting to be more than she could bear.

Her twitching wasn't lost on Spike. His eyes instantly focused on her hand, flew to her face, and then he was gone, long legs a blur as he fairly flew through the streets. He was laughing again. Claw buried her face in her hands, taking another long, deep breath. She heard snickering from the man posted on the eastern side of the general store.

Her head snapped toward him.

"Something funny, Mel?" Claw growled, hands falling to her side and clenching into fists.

"Yeah." The guard grinned from under heavy jowls, revealing broken, stained teeth. His eyebrows were like giant brown caterpillars over watery blue eyes, which sat in a perpetual squint. "Never seen a midget slap-fight an idiot before."

His partner, just under six feet tall with dark skin and hair, glanced over and shook his head silently.

Claw stared at the first man for a long moment, expression cold. He glared back, trying not to fidget under her scrutiny; her dark hazel eyes assured him that he was going to regret the crack.

"Ruben, when the fuck did Brian hire back this puddle of puke?" Claw finally asked conversationally, nodding at the other guard.

"While ago," the dark man drawled, as if it explained everything. "How you been, Claw?"

"Oh, losing my sanity piece by precious piece," she said with false cheeriness. "I'm taking the contract, you know. It's going to...we'll have fun. This will be great."

"The Hudson run?" Ruben ran a filthy handkerchief across his forehead, smearing sweat and dust into a thin, sticky mud. "Ain't it too late in the season for that?"

"I know." Claw coughed once, and spat out a gob of brown mucus. "But so does every other hired gun with more than half a brain. Looks like I'm the only idiot willing to take the job- at least I made Brian pay out the ass for it."

Mel snorted, jowls giving a little jiggle.

"You really think it's worth it? Must've been a hell of a bonus."

Claw leaned against the wall next to Ruben with a tired sigh. "It damn well better be. I do need the money, and I need to get back in the field." Claw rummaged around in her pocket, producing two bottle caps, and offered them to Ruben. "You got a cigarette?"

Ruben nodded, pulling one from the battered pack in his pocket and trading it for the caps. Claw had already procured a pack of matches, and lit the cigarette with a grunt of relief.

"How's your boys?" Ruben took one for himself. "Looks like they're keeping you busy."

"You could say that." Claw exhaled a thin stream of smoke with another sigh. "They're getting stir-crazy. It'll be good to get them out of town; we haven't had a field job in months."

"The big one's just plain crazy." Mel squinted at Claw through watery eyes. "Don't see why you keep him around, he's gonna get you all shot someday."

"First intelligent thing you've said all day." Claw took a long drag. "Crazy doesn't cover it. He's a goddamn walking barfight." She sighed slowly, staring at her cigarette. "What am I doing. I don't have time to smoke with you assholes, I need to pack my fucking gear, I've got to get back to the room and find the boots, I'm sure at least one of the boys is in some kind of trouble-"

She was cut off as the door opened, and Cutter's head poked through. His face was back to its usual good-natured expression, though he scanned the area carefully before stepping out.

"Did you get him?" Cutter asked, sidling up to Claw and leaning on the wall next to her. The woman nodded, taking another long draw off her cigarette.

"He's back at the room. Well, that's where I told him to go." She exhaled. "You all right?"

Cutter nodded, pushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes with one hand. "Fine," he grumbled, staring at the ground. "He didn't get me that good."

Ruben chuckled, reaching down to slap Cutter gently on the back.

"Good to see you in one piece, little man."

Cutter returned a wide smile.

"Hi, Ruben. How's the firing pin working out?"

The dark man gave the barrel of the rifle in his arms a loving pat.

"Perfect," he grinned, "hasn't jammed once. You ever get tired of slogging after that crazy broad-" he waved one hand in Claw's direction, "you could probably get the munitions guy to hire you on."

Cutter shrugged bashfully, his smile widening despite his best efforts.

"It wasn't anything special. Anyone could have done it."

Claw gave the back of his head a light slap.

"Mercs take pride in their work," she scolded, "and yours is damn good. Now thank Ruben for the compliment. Ruben, stop trying to headhunt my boy."

"Thanks, Ruben," Cutter grinned, "I'll think about that."

Claw slapped him harder, making Cutter yelp in surprise and both guards laugh.

"Shut the hell up," Claw grumbled without any real malice. "Cutter, let's go get our damn money."


	2. Chapter 2

((Can you tell I like dialogue yet?))

Spike made it back to the group's rented shack without much incident; he'd knocked someone over in his mad dash back, but didn't think it would cause any problems. That was mildly disappointing, but the promise of unlimited alcohol was making Spike feel less inclined to start trouble simply for the sake of it.

He still wasn't sure about the bath.

There were few things in life Spike found more irksome than bathing. Everything about it offended his sense of practicality- he was either getting irradiated or wasting water, just to take off some dirt and sweat that would be back in a matter of hours. As far as he was concerned, washing was something you did to plates and open wounds. Anything else just didn't make sense.

He fought with the door handle for a moment, got irritated, and kicked it open with one swift knock from his heel. The door flew back with a protesting crash and screech; he heard something give way in the upper hinge, and it came to rest at an awkward, slanting angle.

Small and cramped, the main room held a tiny stove and sink on the far wall. Three rough stools sat around a small, squat round table, covered by a threadbare cloth. Its original color was a mystery, now faded to a soft, dingy gray. Three packs leaned against the northern wall, and most of the remaining floor was covered in mismatched containers. Buckets of spare parts, crates of tangled wire, and countless piles of scrap created something of a maze across the room.

Spike left the door hanging open as he made his way through mounds of gear and clutter, weaving a path toward an especially large pile in the back. He started digging; pieces of scrap, empty bottles, clothing, and other detritus scattered across the floor. Reaching the bottom, Spike frowned, scrubbing a hand through his greasy mats of hair.

"Where the fuck's the bucket?" he wondered aloud, now surrounded by even more mounds of clutter. He started on the opposite corner, adding exponentially to the mess as more objects flew across the room. When he'd finished that pile, the shack was effectively trashed; Spike frowned, one hand on his hip as he stared around.

"Oh well," he shrugged, "can't take a bath. How awful."

_It's the table_. A man's voice, sounding like someone was standing right behind him, made Spike frown.

"No it's not," he scoffed, hopping over a pile of clothes and giving the table a kick. It bounced away from his foot with a hollow clang; the cloth fell off as it crashed against the wall, revealing a large metal bucket.

"Well shit." Spike let out a grumbling sigh. "Fine, smart guy, where's the fucking soap?"

_In the kitchen, where you saw it last night. Idiot_.

"Ugh," Spike grunted dejectedly, making several acrobatic leaps around the mess he'd made. Sure enough, the cracked yellow cake was sitting right on the edge of the sink; he picked it up gingerly, crooked nose wrinkling.

"Thanks for the help, Steel," he spat sarcastically.

_No problem, little brother._

After another brief display of acrobatics, Spike grabbed the bucket and made his way outside. He was forced to lift the door by the handle to get it closed; a crooked grin spread across his face at the thought of Claw discovering it.

_She's going to be pissed._

"She's always pissed." Spike slung the bucket over one shoulder and sauntered toward the town well, whistling tunelessly through his teeth.

_You didn't have to kick it open, jackass. It needs to be pushed in, then pulled back out before you turn the handle. You KNOW that._

Spike shrugged.

"Forgot," he said dismissively. "Cutter can fix it, anyway."

_Whatever. I don't know why they haven't killed your stupid ass yet._

"It's one of life's great mysteries," Spike agreed, slipping the bar of soap into his pocket. In its place, he withdrew a weathered bronze compass, flicking open the protective cover with his thumb. The wide, crooked grin spread across his face, wrinkling the scar running from just under his left eye down his jaw.

_Don't let Claw see that._

"Thanks for the advice, I'm such a fuckin' idiot that I think I'll go wave it under her nose right now. Then I'll go piss on Brian's counter and tell him I've stolen at least two hundred caps worth of useless shit from him. Fuck's sake, give me a little credit."

_That sounds exactly like something you'd do._

"Christ, the both of you think I'm fucking retarded." Spike closed the compass with a snap, and returned it to his pocket.

_We've been right more than once._

"The tent wasn't my fault! I'd like to see anyone else pull that shit off and live."

Several passing townsfolk stared at Spike as he chatted casually with thin air. When he made no attempt to plead for money or demand repentance, they lost interest, continuing down the dusty streets.

"God, that's raw," Spike muttered, running a hand gently down his face. "She got me good that time." His cheeks were swollen and hot; the beating sun wasn't helping matters any.

_What did you expect? A treat_?

"He started it," Spike insisted, "saying I smell. What kind of fuckin' shit is that?"

_You DO-_

"Not listening," he sang, earning a few more mistrustful stares. "Don't know what you pussies are so worked up about!"

After drawing his water, Spike slogged toward the men's bathing shacks, cussing under his breath when the bucket banged his shins. He shouldered the door open, dropped the bucket, and stared down at the water with loathing.

"This is the most pointless shit," he grumbled. "I'm going to be dirty again in two hours. "

_Binge drinking with Claw. Can you suck it up long enough for that?_

Spike let out a long, injured sigh, shrugging off his coat and undoing his belt buckle.

"Bullshit," he muttered as he undressed, "fucking stupid. Motherfucking SOAP. " His voice switched to a high falsetto as he climbed into the lukewarm water. "'Use soap, Spike. Wash your hair, Spike. You smell like an open sewer, Spike.'"

_You POOR thing._

"Fuckin' soap stinks worse than I ever could," Spike continued to grumble, scrubbing his ribcage viciously. "Like butchering an animal."

_No, you smell a lot worse. Hair._

"Jesus, I'm fucking scrubbing, can a guy get a minute?"

The water around him was opaque when he finished. Spike tugged futilely at the knots in his hair, gave up, and shook out his clothes. Coughing in the cloud of dust, he paused briefly to admire the impressive collection of scars across his body. He traced the biggest one, which ran from just over his right collarbone and down his side. The knotted rope of tissue was finally beginning to fade to a lighter color; Spike sighed through his nose, and pulled his clothes on with unnessecary force.

"Fuckin' baths," he grumbled, tossing an arc of black water behind the shack. "See this shit?" He picked at his shirt with two fingers. "Dirty. Now I'm dirty, too."

_Should have grabbed clean clothes._

"Well fucking THANKS for saying something back at the house," Spike threw his hands into the air, "you've been chatting all fucking day and couldn't bother with clean clothes?"

_I can't do_ everything _for you_. Spike detected a smirk in the voices' tone. _You could always take another bath._

Spike cackled all the way back to the shack.

* * *

"Oh, for the love of-"

Claw gripped her head in both hands while Cutter peered around her side, wide yellow eyes staring into the shack.

"Did someone rob us?" he asked, craning to get a better look inside.

"I don't need this right now," Claw groaned. "God damn it, god _damn_ it. Go check the savings. Now."

Cutter scurried inside, nearly tripping several times over the mess on the floor. Claw gave the doorframe an angry kick, making the broken door creak sadly. So angry she could barely see, Claw started to pick things up, her head feeling like it was about to explode.

"There's nothing missing," Cutter's voice called, "doesn't look like they touched anything back here."

Claw released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, hand pressed against her racing heart.

"Looks like all the good junk's here, too," she replied, nudging a dirty shirt with her toe. Making her way into the kitchen, swearing as she stepped on and broke several bits of scrap, she searched the cupboards. Their carefully-managed food was all accounted for.

"What the hell...?" She wondered aloud, hands on her hips. There were several loud crashes as Cutter made his way to her side.

"All the packs and gear are there, too," the boy told her. "What d'you think happened?"

"Hell if I know." Claw pulled the kerchief off her head and tugged at her short hair in frustration. "It looks like a Yao Guai ransacked the place."

"Where's Spike?" Cutter wondered. "Didn't you tell him to come back here?"

"I told him to go take a bath. It's a better punishment than a beating any day."

Cutter laughed.

"How did you make him do _that_? The last time he even came close was when he fell in the river, what, two months ago?"

"I don't want to think about it right now," Claw told him with a grimace. "Let's just say I'm just going to regret it later, but we'll deal with that headache when we come to it. Come on, let's get this shit cleaned up. I need to find the boots and get them to Brian before he shuts down for the night. Might as well start packing while we're at it."

They had barely made a dent in the mess when Spike returned, bucket slung over one shoulder and his jacket on the other. Claw sniffed once, and threw up her hands in disgust.

"I can still smell you from here. Christ, I tell you to do _one_ thing-"

"You told me to leave, and you told me to take a bath. I did both." Spike dropped the bucket, and started stripping off his clothes. Claw rolled her eyes, holding up one hand to shield her peripheral. "Steel thought it was funny as hell to watch me get all the way down there with dirty clothes on. Son of a bitch."

"Aw, what the hell, man?" Cutter threw the ball of string he'd been holding at Spike, who stood stark naked in the middle of the room.

"You were helpful enough when I couldn't find the fucking bucket!" Spike shouted at no one, dodging the ball with ease and proceeding to rip through the house again. "Where'd I throw my fucking pants? I know I saw them earlier."

Claw let out a wordless screech of rage. "_You_ did this? What the fuck...why the _hell_...?" She sat down hard, head between her knees and fists full of hair. "Why do you do this to me?" she pleaded helplessly. "What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?"

"Couldn't find the bucket. Some asshole put a cloth on it."

"This is what I get." Claw tugged mercilessly at her hair. "Make him take a bath. I should have just shoved him in another river."

"You fucking jackass!" Cutter stormed up to Spike, who had yet to find his pants. "Why the hell would you just throw stuff everywhere, we've been organizing for weeks!" He swung at the older boy; without looking up, Spike grabbed Cutter by the front of his shirt, twisted his lanky torso, and tossed the boy over his shoulder. Cutter landed flat on his back, eyes wide and panicked as he gasped for air.

"Nice try," Spike didn't pause in his search. "Don't announce yourself. Moron."

"Spike," Claw groaned, "a punch in the chest is fine. Don't throw the kid, you're going to break his ribs."

"It's good for him." Spike straightened up, raising a pair of tattered jeans in triumph. "Broken bones heal stronger and all that shit."

"Can't..." Cutter gasped, reaching out for Claw. "Breathe!"

"I know." Claw patted his hand sympathetically. "Thank god he didn't actually want to kill you, huh? Try to relax, like we practiced."

"So," Spike cinched his belt around his sunken waist, "when are we hitting the saloon?"

"After you get this mess cleaned up," Claw snapped. "Like you have to ask. Find the boots, I need to go lay down. You gave me a headache. Cutter, you ok?"

The boy nodded mutely, now managing short, choppy breaths.

"Get me up in an hour." Claw picked herself up off the floor, and headed for the other room. She aimed a smack at Spike as she passed; he twisted out of the way with millimeters to spare.

"Don't draw back," he said, still throwing things every which way, but now into sorted piles. "Makes your swing take more time, and I saw you coming a mile away."

He threw up one hand.

"Maybe if people didn't disguise it as a fucking _table_," Spike continued heatedly. "It's always my fault, isn't it?"

"Just clean the house," Claw groaned. "Put the boots by the..." she pinched the bridge of her nose. "-by the door. Cutter, can you get that fixed, please?"

"I told you so," Spike stated matter-of-factly.

Claw stormed into the bedroom, slammed the door behind her, then threw herself onto one of three piles of bedding. She closed her eyes with a long sigh; her hands clenched into fists as the crashing and banging in the other room got louder.

The woman took a slow, deep breath, filling her lungs to capacity and letting it out gradually. She was already dozing off when she took the second breath, even as Cutter started shouting and something heavy hit the floor.

_Deal with it later. Headache._


	3. Chapter 3

The morning of departure was cool and quiet; overhead, the stars were just beginning to lose their brilliance as the eastern horizon grew slightly less black. Inside the shack, Claw was helping Cutter tighten the straps on his leather armor.

"This is going to be cool." The boy shifted from foot to foot, making Claw frown and yank the strap a little harder than necessary. "I've never seen snow before."

"Hooray, frozen radiation," Claw grumbled. "Hold still, you did a shit job back here."

"My arms don't bend that way," the boy protested. "I can never get the ones in the middle tight."

"Learn." Claw planted her hand on the small of his back and tugged. "You need to be able to strap into your own goddamn armor, you're not a little kid anymore."

"I tried!" Cutter twisted his neck to pout at her. "I mean it, my arms just won't go!"

"I got mine on no problem." The woman grunted as she forced the buckle shut. "No excuses, do better next time."

Spike was splayed out on the floor beside them in another set of armor. He also wore his coat and a tattered, wide-brimmed hat. Said hat was pulled over his eyes as he snored, head resting on his pack and a hunting rifle clutched in his arms.

He had stumbled back from God only knew where four hours prior, stone drunk and face beaten to hell. Claw privately commended him on managing to make it to bed without tripping once; she'd made sure he was lying on his stomach and gone right back to sleep, figuring that if he didn't have an angry mob in tow, he hadn't gotten into any trouble that couldn't wait until morning.

"There." Claw gave Cutter a good-natured swat on the back. "Much less shitty. Got the rest of your gear packed? Once we walk out those gates, we won't be back until the job's over."

"Yeah." The boy grabbed the pile of belts near his feet and buckled them on: one for his pistol holster, another covered in large, rectangular pockets and a third with a few odd tools hooked in leather thongs. "Do you think we'll get to see any Sabers?"

"If that's supposed to be a joke, it's not funny." Claw adjusted her own belts, making sure the .44 magum on her hip rested exactly where she liked it, and the spare ammunition was in easy reach. "The fewer animals we come across, the better."

"I just wanna _see_ one," Cutter grumbled. "I wouldn't try to pet it or anything."

"You're almost as bad as Spike. Stretch."

Claw did several squats, raised each knee to her chest, and raised her arms over her head. Satisfied with her mobility, she watched Cutter do the same.

A low, hoarse laugh drifted from under Spike's hat.

"I didn't know you guys could dance."

"Good." Claw nudged his ribs with her foot. Spike flinched away with a hiss. "You're awake. Up and at'em, sunshine, it's time to get to work."

"Oh God." Spike's voice was filled with despair. "I was afraid you were gonna say that. Yeah, I just gotta-" He climbed unsteadily to his feet, lurched to the door, and bent over just outside the shack. Hands on his knees, he wretched and heaved, bringing up a few mouthfuls of liquor and bile.

Claw rolled her eyes, adjusting her traveling pack on her shoulders. She nodded at Cutter, grabbed Spike's abandoned gear, then made her way outside.

The young man was still doubled over, gasping for breath and spitting intermittently. She slapped the hat over his head, dropped the pack, and pushed the rifle into his arms.

"Dumbass."

"He doesn't need your help," Spike moaned, staring dolefully at her and allowing Claw to get her first good look at his face. It was a battered mess; both eyes were black and swollen, his lower lip was split in two places, and all of his jaw was colored with varying shades of black and purple. Claw was pretty sure he'd gotten his nose broken again, too; there was a fresh split across the bridge, and she thought it looked more misshapen than she remembered.

"Still drunk." Spike wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh man, I'm still drunk. Fuck my life." He pulled the pack on laboriously, rifle slung over his right shoulder, and fell in behind Claw. Walking behind him, Cutter took every available opportunity to kick the bottom of his shoes, making Spike stumble as well as swerve.

"Gonna get what's coming," the young man grunted after the fifth time. "Just wait till I can see straight again."

"Oooh, I'm so scared," Cutter laughed, managing two consecutive kicks and nearly sending the older boy sprawling.

"Cutter, stop." Claw glanced over her shoulder. "Save your energy, it's going to be a long walk."

The boy took one last shot, kicking Spike's foot clear out from under him; the older boy yelped, managing to catch himself on Claw's shoulder just before hitting the dirt.

"_That's_ for knocking the wind out of me," Cutter said, meeting Claw's angry stare evenly.

"I said _enough_!" she snapped.

"I'm done." Cutter glared at Spike. "He deserved it."

"I told you to stop." Claw's tone was low and dangerous. "You know better than to ignore me."

"Sorry, Claw." The boy hung his shaggy blonde head. "I'm sorry."

"Pick on each other all you want when we stop for the night." She huffed through her nose. "Christ, we haven't even left town."

They met Samuel, Brian's son, just inside the gates of the trading outpost. An average height and build, the twenty-year-old man wasn't nearly as large as his father, but had the same brown eyes and good-natured face. He greeted Claw with a sleepy wave; Cutter immediately ran toward him, chattering about weapon repair and the sort of equipment they'd brought.

"Think I'm dying," Spike mumbled as they pulled their boots on. "Oh God, I feel like so much shit."

"Good," Claw snipped. "Maybe this time you learn something."

Spike merely groaned, giving her a pitiful look through his swollen eyes. She stared back without a trace of compassion.

"I took you drinking myself the night before. You passed out puking, no one fought, we had a good time. But that wasn't enough. I don't know why I even fucking bother anymore."

"You said all I want. I wanted to drink last night, too."

The woman pushed herself to her feet, an aggravated scowl on her face. "Walk in the back. You smell like booze and vomit."

It was nearly sunrise when they passed through the gates; Claw took the lead, followed by Samuel, Cutter and a loaded Brahmin. Spike slogged in the rear, head hanging.

The outpost quickly faded to an indistinct blur on the horizon, then vanished completely as the group trekked through the Waste. After two hours of steady walking, they were completely surrounded by wilderness. Most of it was brown and gray rock; a few skeletal trees were all that remained of what used to be extensive forest.

Cutter chatted animatedly with Samuel as they walked, overjoyed to have another person around who was nearly as interested in cleaning and repairing guns as he was. The young man seemed surprised at Cutter's knowledge; he'd stopped trying to dumb down the process almost immediately, and seemed to forget that Cutter was eight years younger than himself.

"A lot of people don't get how important it is to take care of them." The boy hopped over an especially large crack in the asphalt. "Everyone should know how to keep their guns working good. You never know when something's gonna go wrong and BAM! You're up shit creek."

"Don't say shit," Claw scolded over her shoulder. "You're still too short."

"You say shit all the time, and you're almost as short as me!" the boy protested.

"Quit being an ass." Claw ran a wrist over her forehead and flicked away sweat. "It's too hot."

"Claw, I'm dying." Spike's pitiful voice drifted from several yards behind them. "I mean it this time, I'm really dying."

"Quit being dramatic." Claw didn't bother looking back. "I told you not to drink the night before. Didn't I?"

"You tell me a lot of things." He dry-heaved once. "Can't see. It's so hot, so fucking _hot_-"

"God damn it," Claw muttered when Spike began to sway. "Pain in my ass. Spike, don't fucking pass out on me. Hold on a second, Samuel."

She rummaged briefly through the Brahmin's packs, and pulled out a bottle of water. Stomping up to the older boy, who was hunched over miserably, she pushed the bottle into his hand.

"Don't you _dare_ throw this up," she ordered.

"I'm gonna," Spike moaned.

"Drink." Claw smacked his arm. "Slowly. Cutter, keep an eye on the idiot, make sure we don't accidentally leave him behind if he passes out."

Cutter rolled his eyes, giving Spike an annoyed glare. He was more than a little tired of being told to babysit, especially when his charge was seven years his senior. Spike glared back halfheartedly, the effect lessened by the swelling around his eyes.

"Don't leave me behind," Spike demanded.

"Don't pass out, then," Cutter snarked. "Shouldn't you be drinking your water?"

"Fuck you," he replied weakly, staring dolefully at the bottle in his hand. He sipped with varying amounts of success as they walked, having some trouble with his badly-swollen lip.

"What happened to his face?" Samuel whispered after a moment, glancing back as Spike stumbled over nothing. Cutter shrugged, his own eyes darting in that direction when the older boy started wretching.

"Probably got into a fight. Claw says his brain is broke, and he can't open his mouth without pissing someone off."

"Doin' all right back there, buddy?" Samuel called.

"Don't call me that," Spike muttered. "No, he doesn't, he seems like a dumb fuckin' Yup."

"Hi." Samuel waved briefly. "Standing right here."

"And where'd that get me?" Spike failed miserably at spitting. "Fuck you, _I_ wanted to run."

"He's not listening," Cutter told Samuel, shrugging as Spike continued to grumble at no one. "He'll just talk to himself until his hangover's gone."

"Ignore him," Claw admonished. "There's some trees a little way off the road. We'll take a breather. How's the water coming, dumbass?"

"I puked." Spike groaned, and sat down hard. "Fucking told you so."

Claw opened her mouth to say something, then closed it and sighed through her nose.

"You two head for those trees and pull out something to eat." She nodded at Cutter and Samuel. "I'll meet you there in a minute. Come on, get up." She grabbed Spike's arm, wrapped it over her shoulders and pulled him up; he choked off a cry of pain, green eyes squeezing shut. His knees wobbled, and Claw's face was strained as she took most of his weight.

"Cutter, take his pack," she grunted, slinging Spike's rifle over her other shoulder.

"I can give you a hand," Samuel offered; Spike raised his head enough to glare, and Claw shook hers once.

"Go get some food out," she repeated. "We'll meet you in a minute."

Samuel shrugged, and urged the Brahmin into a slow trot. He and Cutter made for the copse of dead trees, mirages of heat shimmering on the horizon.

* * *

Claw watched the rest of the group head for the trees with a resigned look on her face. Spike's tall, skinny frame hung awkwardly from her shoulders. He positively reeked of alcohol, and had more than one piece of vomit in varying stages of dryness stuck in his hair.

"So." She pulled him along, letting the young man support himself as best he could. "What happened last night?"

"Got drunk. C'mon, boss, you know what happened."

"Your face, the limp, the bruised ribs- what did you do, Spike?"

"I didn't kill 'em," he muttered defensively. "Just fucked 'em up."

"Where."

"Behind the johns. No one else saw. Wasn't my fault, they jumped me outta nowhere."

"Really." Claw grunted as his legs went limp, nearly sending them both sprawling. "You understand why I'd have my doubts about that."

"I swear. I was just trying to take a piss, and they jumped me." Spike let out a low, gravelly laugh. "They got me pretty good, huh? How's it look?"

"Like you lost a fight with the business end of a sledgehammer." Claw chuckled despite herself. "How'd it go?"

"They won't eat solid food for weeks. Broke one's arm. Got the other in the balls. He was still puking when I left."

Claw clapped his back appreciatively.

"Atta boy. Now be honest. What did you say to them?"

"Boss, I don't think you understand. I got _drunk_. I remember the first half of a bottle of vodka. I remember getting thrown in the dirt with my dick in my hand, still pissing, and I remember beating the hell out of the two dipshits that did it."

"Thank you for not killing them."

"Yeah, well. You owe me one, boss."

They were approaching the trees, where Cutter and Samuel sat against the trunks. Once reaching the sparse shade, Claw dropped Spike unceremoniously. He groaned, sprawled on his back, and pulled his hat over his face.

"No sleeping." Claw nudged him with her foot. "Drink more water." She sat down next to Cutter, and took an offered piece of jerky with a nod of thanks. Samuel was watching the black-haired man warily; Spike had himself propped on one elbow, and was trying to drink with a variety of dramatic grimaces.

"The fuck you lookin' at?" he demanded. Samuel glared at him.

"Shut up," Claw replied for the brown-haired man. "Slow down on the water, you're going to throw up again." She sighed loudly. "Our time is tight enough without this bullshit. We haven't even made five miles."

"Sorry, boss," Spike muttered. "I think I'm done puking, though. Feels good to be out of the sun."

"Good. Eat." Claw threw the jerky at him; Spike blanched at the sight of the bag, shoulders heaving once.

"No, I think I'm good," he told her, voice strained.

"I'm still hungry," Cutter spoke up, "can I look around?"

"At what?" Claw demanded. "I can already tell you what you'll see; dirt, rocks, and more dirt."

"Please?" Cutter begged, "I saw a gully just over there and I bet there's lizards."

"Fine. Stay where I can see you," Claw told the twelve-year-old. "Be careful."

Cutter bounded off, bright blonde hair nearly white under the unforgiving sun. Claw leaned against the tree trunk with a sigh, closing her eyes and listening to the Brahmin chew the lowest branches. They sat in silence for a time; the woman opened one eye when Spike began snoring, splayed out with the empty water bottle clutched in one hand.

"So, Sam." Claw pulled a short knife from its sheath on her calf and began to clean her fingernails. "What did you do to get stuck on this job?"

The young man cleared his throat. "My dad couldn't get any of the traders to go." He chuckled briefly. "Looks like you were the only person stupid enough to take the work."

"Don't remind me." Claw started on her other hand. "How much field experience do you have, kid?"

"I'm twenty," Samuel corrected. "Enough. I've been on plenty of local runs, and I go out with the hunters all the time. Trust me, I'm not going to get in your way."

"Here's hoping." Claw wiped dirt and other unidentifiable goop from the tip of her knife onto her pants. "It's going to be a tough run. We're supplied for it, but..." She broke off, staring distantly into the shimmering heat. Samuel tilted his head.

"What's-"

"Shh," Claw hissed, grabbing the pair of small binoculars that hung around her neck. She squinted through them, then relaxed.

"Sorry." She reached into one of the pouches on her belt and pulled out a battered metal cigarette case. "Thought I saw something. Must've been the heat waves."

Leaning back and closing her eyes while she smoked, Claw left Samuel to sit in awkward silence. After a minute, Spike started sniffing, then held out his hand toward Claw.

"Gimmie."

"Get your own," Claw slapped his hand away. "These are mine."

"Wanna split it?"

"No." Claw took a long drag. "You forgot to pull yourself out a pack, didn't you?"

Spike let his hand flop into the dirt, grumbling under his breath. Claw finished the cigarette slowly. When she'd finished, she snuffed the butt and cupped her hands around her mouth.

"_Cutter! We're leaving_!" She stood up, brushing dust off her armor. "Get up, we've got a lot of ground to cover."

Spike and Samuel pushed themselves up, the former clutching the sides of his head with a groan.

"Jesus I feel like so much shit. My fucking head."

"Shut up." Claw picked up her pack. "You're lucky I gave you a break at all."

It only took Cutter a moment to return, something small and wiggly sticking out of his mouth. Claw made a face at him.

"Raw is one thing." She raised one hand to shield her eyes as he devoured the lizard. Spike and Samuel's faces paled a few shades. "How do you stand them moving like that?"

"It's not so different from Mole Rat." Cutter wiped a trickle of bluish blood off his chin. "They taste way better, too."

"Oh f-" Spike clapped a hand over his mouth and bent forward, the other on his knee. Cutter laughed, and belched loudly. Claw smacked the boy on the back of his head.

"He wasted enough water already," she scolded. "Knock it off."

"I'm good." Spike took a deep breath. "Kicked it."

"I'm so proud." Claw rolled her eyes. "Is there _any_ chance we can get moving before winter gets here?"

"How do you guys get anything done?" Samuel demanded, taking the Brahmin's rope and urging it away from the trees.

"Honestly?" Claw pulled off her kerchief, ran her fingers through her hair, and tugged it back on. "I have no fucking idea. Let's get back to the road. Spike, keep an eye out. I thought I saw something earlier."

They pressed north as the sun made its way slowly through the sky, leaving a small cloud of dust in their wake. In one of the numerous gullies cutting through the landscape, two pairs of eyes watched until the dust was out of sight, then began following the trail.

((Ok, I know I've been super-vague about location and other moderately important details; hang in there, I'm still dusting out the corners of the storytelling portion of my brain, and boy is it a mess back here.

Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. The site even made reviewing easier by giving us the nifty insta-reply box! So...you know. Drop some delicious brainfood for me!))


	4. Chapter 4

This didn't take me forever. /sarcasm Don't worry, I have two more chapters nearly ready to go. I decided I had been moving too fast, went back and did this little addendum...and omg it took me like a month. I have no reason to feel this accomplished.

Ch. 4

"Samuel, don't."

Claw grabbed the back of his shirt just in time to keep him from leaping at Spike. The black-haired young man had recovered from his hangover later in the morning; as soon as he felt better, he'd begun making 'jokes' and hadn't shut up since, keeping up a constant stream of chatter with himself. What wasn't gibberish primarily consisted of allegations to Samuel's complete uselessness, and Spike had just finished a detailed saga about his unlikely parentage.

Claw was mildly impressed; she'd expected Samuel's patience to snap after the third or fourth remark, but it had taken the better part of an hour before he'd finally had enough.

"Let go of me." He tried to wrench himself away, but the small woman wasn't backing down.

"Leave him alone, we don't have time." She scowled up at him. "You can do whatever you want when we make camp."

"Fuck you." Samuel scowled right back. "I don't have to take this shit from him, and I don't know why the hell you're-"

"Listen, _kid_." Claw interrupted angrily. "This is _my_ run. I've made the trip before, I know what we're up against, and you need to fucking understand."

She seemed to grow several inches taller as she continued.

"We. Do not. Have. _Time_." Claw stared Samuel dead in the eye. "Winter up there is. . ." Her expression became distant for a split second, then instantly shifted back to annoyed and angry. "It's different. You couldn't understand until you've seen it, but trust me. If we don't make it there before it gets _cold_, we're going to die. All of us." She continued to scowl. "I've gotten pretty good at living, and a lot of money riding on making it to thirty years old. So please."

She released Samuel's shirt, brow furrowing in a pained attempt to look reasonable. He glared down at her, voice shaking with barely-contained rage.

"The fucking asshole's been running his mouth all day, and he needs to get hit there!"

Claw ground her teeth in frustration."Can it _wait_? I promise, once we're off the road, you can try whatever you want. Just don't shoot the dipshit, he's useful sometimes."

"I don't. . ." Samuel glanced between Claw and Spike, who stood nearby grinning like an idiot. A pained expression creased the oldest boy's face. "But it would just take-"

"A minute," Claw interrupted again, "that we don't have to spare. You don't think I want to beat the shit out of him? I get to listen to this on a regular basis. You're new, so he hasn't gotten bored enough to start in on me and Cutter yet. It's nothing personal."

"Boss, quit lying." Spike's grin managed to grow even wider. "You're better than that, trying to keep his widdle feewins from gettin' hurt. C'mon, let him do it." The smirk on his face grew predatory, and he managed a few steps toward Samuel before Claw was between them.

Almost too quickly to see, her right arm was moving, and the resounding retort of her palm meeting Spike's cheek rang in the air. He staggered backward, mouth hanging open incredulously and eyes glazed.

"God damn it," she hissed, rubbing her aching hand gingerly. "I should shoot you now. Did you not hear a _word_ I just said."

"God damn it," Spike repeated, glaring at her indignantly, "my _fucking face_. Like Frick and Fuck didn't do enough!" He tapped gingerly at his lower lip, which had split open again. "Shiteating cockbiting bloody _hell_, that fucking hurt!"

Claw gave her hand a final shake. "You touch him, I'm using the dartgun."

Spike's eyes widened.

"I broke that."

His indignation switched quickly to alarm, and the young man took several more steps back. Claw stared skyward with a deep sigh.

"Of course you did, because I left the old one out for you to break. You think I can just leave things I need around you?" She patted a large pouch strapped across her chest. "We're on a _schedule_. You of all fucking people know that."

She glared back and forth between the two boys.

"No. Fighting. On. The road. This is not the time for idiocy. We have a long way to go."

"But-" Spike and Samuel began simultainiously.

"NO!" Claw yelled. "I'm not fucking saying it again! Now _move_, I want to make more than ten goddamn miles today!" She turned on her heel and marched angrily down the road, one hand gripping the side of her head. The elder boys glared daggers at each other for a moment, before Samuel finally yanked on the Brahmin's lead and turned to follow the woman.

Cutter was waiting just up ahead, and Claw caught up to him quickly. He offered her a wide smile, receiving a look that was equal parts helpless and irritated.

"Told you you wouldn't have to fight him," the boy muttered under his breath.

Claw grunted. "Fine, he's a little smarter than I gave him credit for. A _little_."

"You were really fast that time!" Cutter's smile turned into a beam. The woman rolled her eyes, mouth twitching.

"You liked that, huh?" She finally allowed herself a small grin. "Dumb bastard didn't see it coming. Did you catch the look on his face?"

"Totally awesome." The boy gave her a celebratory slap on the back. "Show me how tonight."

Claw shrugged, her foul mood beginning to decrease ever so slightly.

"I just slapped him, kid. I'll show you all you want, but I'm not held responsible for what he does when you try."

"One of these days, I'm _gonna_ get him."

"No you're not," Spike called out in a singsong voice, "and she only got me 'cause I didn't think she was enough of a bitch to hit me after a really good fight!"

"I need to feed you more," Claw snapped back, "I nearly broke my hand on your fucking skull that time."

"Let's do that," he instantly agreed, "without all the hitting. I wasn't gonna hurt him _bad_."

The woman let out a short sigh, turned to walk a few steps backwards, and patted the pouch strapped to her chest. Spike gave it a look of pure venom, then took to muttering under his breath.

Cutter tugged at Claw's shoulder pauldron when she turned back around.

"Ten caps says you use it in less than a week."

"Why would I bet against a sure thing?" The woman shook her head, then lowered her voice to the barest whisper. "He does _not_ find out you have one too, unless it's an absolute emergency. He'd find a way to break them both."

Cutter nodded. "Don't worry. He won't find it." The boy met her eyes, and winked. Claw resisted the urge to sigh, and turned her attention back to the northern horizon. Far off in the distance, the blurry shape of rolling hills could just be made out.

"Because I don't like his face!" Spike's voice was getting louder again. "You always were a pussy, I dunno how the hell you ended up dying instead." A pause. "I never fucking asked you to!"

"Keep it down." Claw frowned back at him. "You're giving us away to anything with ears."

"And a nose," Samuel interjected. Spike's head whipped around, and he glared at the older boy with considerable ire.

"I took a fucking bath _yesterday_. I even changed my goddamn clothes, so you can't use that one right now."

"Two days ago," Cutter corrected, "and Samuel's right. I can already smell you again. Seriously, are you rolling in the shit or eating it?"

"Cutter." Claw glared at him. "Don't say 'shit'."

"You're damn lucky my face hurts." Spike gave the boy a look that assured him the remark would not be forgotten. "The both of you."

"Spike, _shut up_," Claw pleaded. "I'm this close to hitting you again, and I don't know if my hand can take it."

* * *

They encountered their first sizable river in the early afternoon. The old-world bridge leading across the gulch was almost nonexistent; a few girders still rose out of the sluggish, brown water halfway across, but most everything else had collapsed years ago. Chunks of debris stuck out of the water like broken teeth in rotten gums. The group paused before the steep slope into the riverbed; Claw crouched atop a large rock, scanning the bank with her binoculars.

"See anything?" Cutter called up for the third time. Claw gave a grumbling sigh.

"_No_," told him, one hand raised to shade her eyes from the sun. It had just passed its zenith, and the day was growing incredibly hot. Drenched in sweat, she felt like a sausage being boiled. Her armor was giving her more than one blister in very unfortunate places, and her eyes had been burning from dust and steadily-dripping sweat for hours. All in all, she pondered, it was a fitting start to a job she still wasn't entirely sure she should have taken.

"Hey, what do you call a Yup with a gun?" Spike asked, perched on the rickety edge of the collapsed bridge. "Hey, I said-"

"We heard you," Samuel snapped, "we just don't care."

Claw bit back another sigh of frustration, having accepted the fact that nothing she said would keep them quiet for long. Something moved along the riverbank; she resisted the urge to pinch her nose, and squinted against the sun as she adjusted her focus slightly.

_One, two, three. . .damn it, four. . .five. . .shit, must be a nest nearby._

"See anything, Claw?" Cutter called again.

"Mirelurks." She turned to hop off the rock. "Five of them." She scowled. "And you seriously need to stop that, it's annoying as hell." The woman jumped and landed in a crouch; she stood up, dusted off her hands, and turned to Samuel.

"I'd rather not deal with them." She pulled off her bandana and scrubbed her forehead; already soaked with sweat, the cloth did little more than smear around the grit clinging to her skin. "Without the damn Brahmin, we could just sneak past. How far to the next ford?"

Samuel procured a tattered, stained map and unfolded it carefully. He examined it for a few moments while Claw pulled her soggy bandana back on.

"At least three miles." The young man glanced down at the map again. "That would put us in Jackalope territory. Next closest is twenty miles."

"There's no such thing as Jackalopes," Cutter told him disdainfully. "That's something only little kids believe in."

"Like you did," Spike interjected from his perch, "what, three months ago?" Spike's voice jumped an octave. "I don't wanna sleep alone, Claw, there's Jackalopes out there!"

"Shut up, I did not!" Cutter's face, already quite pink from the heat, flushed beet red and his hands clenched into fists.

"I meant the Raider gang," Samuel tried to interrupt, but Spike spoke over him.

"There are so Jackalopes, Spike!" he continued, his falsetto whining and nasally. "They're six feet tall, have glowing red eyes, teeth like a Deathclaw-"

"Shut _**up**_," Claw and Cutter snapped in tandem. The boy turned toward her, jaw clenched in fury.

"Can I try?" he begged, voice cracking slightly. Claw shook her head, going back to staring through her binoculars at the large, armored crabs below.

"Now now. We have better things to worry about. Besides, I already told Samuel no."

"But _Claw_-"

"_No_," she barked, "now keep quiet unless you're suggesting a way to get us past the fucking Mirelurks."

"I got one," Spike's voice was back to normal, "use the Yup as bait and run for it. He's got plenty of meat on him, we can be down and back out before they notice Steaks." He nodded at the Brahmin.

"What's your fucking problem, buddy?" Samuel demanded, fingers digging creases into the map.

"No, I think he means it," Spike answered. "I know, but what'd you expect? Look," his eyes snapped suddenly to Samuel, "I don't wanna get hit again, but I don't fucking like you and look forward to beating the shit out of you later." He spat. "I _told_ you not to call me that."

Samuel's face twisted slightly in a half-smirk. "Sure thing. Quit calling me a Yup."

"Well I can't just go around lying, people won't take me seriously."

"Christ." Claw's eyebrows were pinched hard over her nose as she glared behind her. "_Mirelurks_. The pissing contest can wait until we get past this goddamn river, now shut the fuck _**up**_."

Spike huffed, and turned back to the brackish water beneath him. He leaned forward, teetering unsteadily with one hand clutching his hat to his head.

"You know," Cutter spoke up from beside the Brahmin, "Spike kind of had a good idea."

"Oh come _on_,-" Samuel began.

"No, no, listen," the boy raised his hands complacently, "we can use some bait, sneak around up top and throw it away from the ford. Then we can get Steaks across while they're distracted, and whoever throws the bait can just swim across a little farther down."

"That's..." Claw tugged absentmindedly at her earrings. "Maybe. I don't know. I don't want to split up, I think there might be a nest around here."

"Or we could use a grenade." Cutter shrugged. "I think that's a better idea, let's use a grenade."

"Yes!" Spike grinned at the boy. "For once, the kid knows a good idea when he hears one. I'll go get it."

"No grenades." Claw rolled her eyes. "Those are for emergencies."

"You keep saying we're pressed for time, but you won't let us use the grenades." Spike scrambled over a few holes in the crumbling bridge, making his way back to solid ground. "You _never_ let us use the grenades. Why even carry 'em?"

"They're expensive, and if you use one now, we're going to end up wishing we had it later." She nearly laughed at the dejected looks on both their faces; Claw had never understood the boy's love of explosives, only that she was looking at a very long argument if she decided to stick to her guns.

"Pleeease?" Cutter hopped up and down a few times. "I'll be really careful, I bet I can get them all in one shot!"

"No fuckin' way in hell." Keeping a wary eye on Claw as he moved in a wide circle around her, Spike slunk toward the Brahmin. "I'm throwing it, it was my idea and I've got better aim."

"The grenade was _my_ idea." Cutter watched Spike with obvious distrust, fists clenched by his midsection. "You were just being a dumbass and said something useful by accident."

"Cutter, he's got better aim. Spike, it was Cutter's idea." Claw pulled her hand down her face with a long sigh. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but you can each throw one."

The boy launched himself at Claw for a quick, tight hug. She shoved him away with a grunt, forcing back the smile that tried to creep over her face.

"Go get your damn grenade before Spike gets impatient and blows himself up. Use some of that cheese for bait, god knows I'm not going to miss it."

Cackling gleefully, Cutter dashed after Spike, who'd already procured himself an explosive and was headed upriver. Claw went back to watching the Mirelurks as the boys searched for a good spot to drop the bait.

"I still don't get it." Samuel sat down beside the Brahmin, using it for a bit of shade. "I heard about what happened outside the store when you took the job, Mel wouldn't shut up about it." He frowned at her. "Why are you letting that prick run his mouth like that?"

"Because I can't sew it shut." Claw ran the back of her wrist across her forehead, dully noting the sunburn she felt forming there. "I know it's hard to deal with, but here's the thing. He's batshit insane, physically incapable of shutting up, and dumber than the ass end of Steaks over there."

She lowered the binoculars to look at Samuel directly. "But he's damn useful in a fight. I've worked with worse."

"Don't you start on me, too." The young man scowled. "I'm not saying I'm some legendary gunman, but unlike dipshit seems to think, I'm not a sheltered townie. I've been making trade runs since I was fourteen, and I've killed twelve people since then."

"I wasn't talking about you, kid." Claw shook her head with a small smirk. "You don't need to try and impress me until shit's going down, and you'll have plenty of chances." She shrugged. "Look, I know it makes you want to rip your hair out. I'm getting bald patches, and I don't think it's just radiation sickness." Claw squinted upriver. She could just make out Cutter in the distance; they were making excellent time, she noted with a small amount of pride.

"Look, he's been worse than usual all week, and then I made him take a bath. If anything, be pissed at your dad for sending you with us. It's kind of cruel." Claw raised the binoculars again, checking to see if the boys had made any progress in drawing the Mirelurks together. They were still spread all along the riverbank, a few beginning to pay more attention to their general direction than Claw was comfortable with. She scowled, turning her gaze toward the way the boys had gone. She couldn't see them, which she supposed was a good thing.

"God damn it, I let them have two grenades," she grumbled to herself. "Fucking waste, is what it is, going to wish I hadn't done it, I _know_ I am."

* * *

Cutter panted as he scrambled after Spike, a well-wrapped pouch of cheese in one hand and a frag grenade in the other. As much as he wanted to yell at Spike to slow the hell down, he wasn't about to risk giving up the element of surprise. Not that yelling would do him a bit of good, anyway; Spike would only speed up to spite him, and then Cutter might well miss the opportunity to get his all-in-one shot. He was positive he could, if only the older boy would let him take it.

Cutter forced his legs to move faster. He cleared a three-foot wide gully without effort, grinning to himself at the small surge of euphoria that flooded his body. He loved to run. It was one of the few things he and Spike agreed on, and though the boy had yet to beat him in a race, he was getting a little faster all the time.

Running at a flat-out sprint for a good three minutes, they were well upriver of the others when Spike finally slowed down, back arched and hands clasped behind his head while he caught his breath. Cutter followed suit when he caught up moments later, dropping the cheese but keeping a firm grip on his grenade. They took a few seconds to huff and blow, sweat literally streaming down both their faces.

"We should take a dip," Cutter gasped, walking in small circles, "before we throw the bait. Oh my _god_ it's hot out today!"

"Go ahead," Spike panted back, "I'll be blowing shit up."

"Come _on_, don't be an idiot for once." Already breathing easier, the boy lowered his hands to his hips. "You know it's hot, you're bright fucking red and I can see like three veins trying to pop out of your neck. You should take off your stupid jacket, at least."

"My jacket's awesome," Spike replied, tilting his head back, "and I'm telling the boss you said fuck."

"Come _on_!" Cutter stomped his foot in frustration. "I'm trying to help you out, dumbass, you'll get heat stroke and then Claw's gonna yell at me like it's _my_ fault when you fucking pass out!"

"Oooh, you said it twice." Spike leaned forward, hands on his knees, and spit out a fat wad of brown mucus. "You're gonna get it, now."

"You're not going to tell her," the boy snapped, "not if you want me to keep quiet about the Psycho."

"You can't keep..." Spike paused for breath, "-stacking favors on that. It's bullshit."

"I can as long as you don't want Claw to find out," Cutter retorted. "You should just quit. Then I couldn't blackmail you anymore."

"I tried. Buffout's expensive." Spike dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "Fine, I didn't hear anything. Now are we gonna go make some Mirelurk soup or what?"

The boy looked longingly at the river, then at the explosive in his hand. He pondered on whether or not Spike would dare throw the other grenade without him, and was forced to silently chastise himself for wasting the time on an obvious answer. He sighed dejectedly, and nodded.

"Let's try to hit 'em from up here, then. Did you see any good lookouts?"

"A couple." Spike removed his hat and shook his head like a wet dog, spraying sweat everywhere. "We'll have to get pretty close. Try not to piss yourself."

Cutter growled, giving the older boy the most scathing look he could muster. He knew Spike was just trying to bait him, but the urge to take a swing at his smug face was growing more unbearable by the second. On the other hand, Claw had the uncanny ability to tell when they'd been scrapping, no matter how carefully they cleaned up afterword.

Cutter didn't much feel like having his ears boxed.

After retrieving the bait, the boys made their way cautiously toward the lip of the gulch. When he squinted, Cutter could just barely pick out movement several hundred yards downriver.

"Think you can be quiet long enough for us to sneak up on 'em?" Cutter raised an eyebrow at Spike, who made a show of rolling his eyes.

"You know damn well I can. Hurry up, we don't have a lot of time before they notice the Yup and Steaks."

"What does that mean, anyway?" The boy cocked his head; he knew it was a derogatory term of some sorts, but couldn't figure out what Spike meant by it.

"That's bullshit, of course I'm not. Shut your fucking mouth."

"Oh god damn it," Cutter grumbled. "You're doing this _now_?"

"We're _talking_," Spike answered distantly. "Well I'm sure as shit not gonna wait until he tries, look what happened last time."

"Hey, don't go crazy on me," Cutter snapped his fingers loudly in front of Spike's face, "we have shit to blow up, remember?"

"Yeah. . .yeah." Spike shook his head a few times before pulling his hat back on. "We'll finish this later," he growled under his breath.

Keeping themselves low and watching their footing carefully, Spike and Cutter made their way back toward the Mirelurks and the rest of the group. Three of the creatures milled around a collection of slimy egg clutches, the other two out of sight around a bend in the river.

The boys came to a halt around five feet from the steep gulch wall. Cutter's heart rate was up, knuckles white around the explosive in his hand. Spike knelt down and scuttled forward, eyes on the Mirelurks and the manic grin spread across his face. He held out his hand expectantly, glancing at Cutter when nothing happened.

The boy cocked his head. Spike pointed at the bait with his chin, fingers motioning impatiently for Cutter to hand it over.

Cutter scoffed silently, upper lip twisting, and began inching toward the edge of the cliff. Spike grabbed him by the wrist holding the bait. His grin grew crooked as he squeezed mercilessly; it took all of Cutter's willpower not to yelp, and the little bundle fell. Spike caught it before it hit the ground, tilting his head backwards just in time to avoid Cutter's fist to his nose.

He slipped the bait into his pocket as Cutter swung again, leaned back on his hands, swung his leg out, and caught the boy right behind the ankles. Landing hard on his rear, the impact jarred Cutter all the way up to his teeth. Spike was back on his feet in an instant; he raised his hand, forefinger extended, and waggled it back and forth.

'_Better aim_,' he mouthed.

Angry tears tried to build in Cutter's eyes; he blinked them back furiously, scowling at Spike with every ounce of his considerable rage. It was far from the first, and certainly wouldn't be the last time the older boy bullied him, and it only got worse if he let himself cry. Until he got fast enough to strike him, there was little Cutter could do about it.

Spike procured the bait and a little folding knife, flicked the blade open with his thumb, and neatly sliced the string holding the bundle closed. The smell of the dry, crumbly cheese made Spike gag, and Cutter felt just a little bit better.

They moved to the very edge of the cliff, scooting carefully on their bellies, and peered over. One of the Mirelurks was already getting agitated, claws opening and closing reflexively. It's low, clicking growl made Cutter's heart beat a little harder against his ribs.

He elbowed Spike rather unkindly in the side, urging him to hurry the hell up. He received a hard shove in return, and a spike of adrenaline shot through his body when he was pushed nearer to the edge. He managed to hold back a gasp, biting his lips together and scowling at the older boy.

Brow furrowed, Spike was taking aim. He tilted his head, eyes squinted, then threw the bait with all his strength. It hit the ground in an explosion of sickly yellow curds; the smell of rancid vomit was suddenly thick in the air, and Spike dry-heaved into his elbow.

The three Mirelurks in the immediate area zoned in quickly, snapping and clicking at nothing in particular. It didn't take them long to pinpoint the source of the smell. They clustered around the cheese, small arms near their mouths working furiously to grab the crumbly pieces and shove them in.

Cutter's heart was pounding against his chest. He stared downriver at the bend, trying his best to will the remaining Mirelurks around it. They appeared a few tense minutes later, loping quickly toward their fellows.

Before they'd reached the group, one of the first three began to lose interest in the bait. The boy gripped his explosive so hard his fingers started to hurt, mentally commanding it to stay put.

The creature began trotting upriver. Cutter ran through his mental collection of vulgarities, not finding any that properly expressed his frustration. He nearly shouted, thinking that perhaps if he got the Mirelurk's attention, it would turn around and get close enough to the group for him to throw the grenade.

He was instantly glad he hadn't. From beneath an overhang he hadn't seen, two Hunters came trotting into the open. They didn't seem the least bit interested in the bait; in fact, Cutter noticed with a growing sense of anxiety, they seemed to be looking right at their hiding spot.

The bank was steep, but not sheer. Cutter didn't /think they'd be able to climb it, but he'd learned a long time ago never to put value on 'maybe'. Spike was watching them too, finger looped through the pin on his grenade. The older boy's face was serious, an unusual expression for him; the same thoughts were apparently running through his mind.

Four Mirelurks were still fighting over the bait. The Hunters, and the last of the smaller variety, began moving steadily for the slope. Cutter knew they were running out of time for a sneak attack.

He caught Spike's eyes, pointed at himself, then the group around the bait. Spike nodded once, fingers flexing around the grenade in his hand.

'_On three_,' he mouthed at Cutter.

The boy steadied his nerves, nodding back. In one swift motion, they both pulled their pins and took aim.

_One_...

A bead of sweat dripped into Cutter's eye. He blinked furiously, a small spike of adrenaline shooting through him at the unwanted distraction.

_Two_...

Spike grinned, adjusting himself for maximum flexibility of his arm.

_Three_!

The grenades took flight. Cutter's heart was in his throat as he watched his arc through the air.

_Too high, I threw it too high, it's gonna miss the one on the left-_

BOOM!

Near-simultaneous explosions sent a shower of sand and blood into the hot afternoon. Cutter shielded his face with one arm as chunks of Mirelurk and dirt pelted them; he looked up a moment later, peering into the cloud of dust they'd created.

He saw jerky, sporadic movement, and felt his heart sink. He'd missed, had known full well he'd missed the instant the explosive left his hand, but was loathe to admit it. Spike was never going to let him live it down.

The dust began to settle. Cutter pushed himself up and unholstered his pistol, not looking forward to dealing with an enraged, wounded Mirelurk.

He stood on the every edge of the drop-off and squinted down. As the dust blew away, he blinked in surprise, then felt a grin to match Spike's spread across his face.

It was one of the Hunters. Its left leg had been blown clean off, and the side of its carapace was a mess of jagged shell chunks and tattered flesh. The creature was still trying to crawl toward them, leaving a trail of blood and gore in the sand.

"Better aim, my ass!" The boy crowed, giddily hopping up and down a few times. "He was yours, you know he was, and I got every single one of mine!"

Spike gave him a hard shove, nearly sending Cutter tumbling down the bank. The boy cussed indignantly, managing to catch his balance at the last second. Slinging his rifle off his shoulder, Spike took aim, and let out a slow breath. The 'crack' echoed loudly against the earthen walls, and a slug found home neatly in the Mirelurk's small, fleshy face.

As the creature spasmed in the last throws of death, Spike scowled down at Cutter.

"It was the only thing I could do," he snapped, visibly upset, "they were moving too fast and one would've gotten up here. I didn't fucking miss."

"Oh, ok." Cutter nodded. "It's just that no one told me two was suddenly bigger than four. Because I killed four. In one shot. You killed two. I knew I could-"

Spike shoved him again, this time with more malice. Cutter managed a brief shout of surprise before he was tumbling down the earthen wall. It was only a matter of seconds, but the sensation of not knowing which direction was which made the painful descent seem to stretch out much longer.

He hit the pebbly shore hard, face-first in Mirelurk gore. Briefly stunned, Cutter blinked slowly, mildly incredulous that he didn't seem to have broken anything. His wind was gone; the boy managed to roll onto his back, eyes squeezed shut against the blinding sun. He clamped down on the instinctual panic and forced himself to relax, as Claw had often advised.

Spike landed beside him in a crouch, then stood and dusted off the lapels of his jacket.

"Mine were moving, dipshit."

"Hate." Cutter's chest hitched uncontrollably. He managed a brief gasp of air. "You."

"You too, kid." The older boy knelt beside the Mirelurk Hunter's corpse, examined one of the claws critically, then pulled out a long knife and wedged it into a crack created by the explosion. Using the knife as a lever, he pried off a chunk of shell, then another, before he was fist-deep in the soft meat and stuffing his mouth full.

Cutter pushed himself into a sitting position, the occasional spasm still making him gasp for breath, and crawled over to take a share. He had seen a marked increase in appetite over the last year or so, and the food from a few hours back already seemed like a distant memory.

"Move, I'm hungry," Cutter groused, pride still injured but stomach taking priority.

Spike mumbled something incomprehensible around a wad of meat, juice running down his chin and glistening in the whiskers under his lower lip. Cutter shouldered him bodily to the side, digging out a chunk before Spike pushed him back. The boy sat back, chewing happily and indignation already fading. He hadn't had fresh Mirelurk in months, and was determined to enjoy the experience.

They gorged themselves on claw meat, cleaning out the first in minutes. Cutter's belly was getting distended when he grudgingly stopped, breathing a sigh of satisfaction. Spike was sucking juice off his fingers and intermittently scraping at the empty shell with his knife; he finally wiped his hands on his pants, and picked up the rock again.

"I'm gonna break this open, take some for the boss." He brought it down on the remaining claw with a resounding 'crack'. "Go get some eggs."

"You get eggs." Cutter buried his hands in the hot sand, then scrubbed them together, cleaning himself fairly effectively. "I did it last time."

"And I outrank you." Spike was making no visible progress with the second claw, face scrunched in concentration. "So go find some goddamn eggs. The boss'll be pissed we took so long, but she'll forget if we bring eggs. Get."

Cutter opened his mouth to object, but Spike had made a surprisingly valid point.

"Fine." He huffed instead. "But it's your turn next time."

Spike started cackling.

* * *

Claw guessed it had been nearly twenty minutes when the boys finally returned. She had just been ready to go look for them, part of her absolutely certain that one had managed to blow the other to pieces, when she spotted their outlines against the shimmering waves of heat. They were trotting at a leisurely pace, a bundle clutched in each of their arms.

A heavy weight lifted from Claw's chest, though her expression remained aggravated.

"What the hell took you so long?" She demanded as they drew closer. Her tone was sharp and accusatory. "You were fighting, weren't you?"

"'Course not, boss." Spike chucked his jacket, wrapped around several rounded objects, at Claw. "I get hit again, my head'd probably snap off."

She caught it reflexively; the bundle was heavier than it looked, and nearly fell as she struggled to get a proper grip.

"We brought Mirelurk!" Cutter chirped, raising the wrapped meat in triumph.

"I killed it," Spike said immediately.

"Yeah, the second time you tried," Cutter snapped. "Mine were in too many pieces to bring back."

"I don't care," Claw told them, struggling to keep her voice irritated. "I'm glad for the extra food, but you had me worried. You know better than to take so long, especially near the road."

"Aw, we can take care of ourselves." Cutter offered a piece of Mirelurk to Samuel, who began devouring it with gusto. "You don't have to worry all the time."

"Yes I do, there isn't a bit of common sense between the two of you." She examined him critically. "You _have_ been fighting."

"I. . ."

Cutter glanced at Spike, who'd suddenly become absolutely fascinated with his bootlaces. The boy's face twisted.

"I fell down the cliff. Landed kinda hard."

Claw made her way toward the Brahmin, stowing the eggs away carefully and frowning at Cutter.

"You fell."

"Well, I slipped," he amended, refusing to meet her eyes. "We had to get right on the edge, and when I got four and Spike only killed two, I. . ." He closed his eyes briefly. "I was jumping, and I slipped."

The woman's eyes narrowed, watching his face carefully. She finally grunted, and cinched the pack shut.

"You need to be more careful. You're going to get yourself hurt or killed. Do you have any idea how pissed I'd be if you'd broken your leg?"

"Sorry, Claw." The boy glared daggers at Spike, who grinned back. "I will."

"Damn right." She ruffled his hair briefly. "You did good. Four, huh? Maybe the grenade was a good idea after all."

"That's what I'm saying." Spike snatched his recently-emptied jacket from Claw's hands and threw it on in one swift movement. "We should use more grenades."

"Let's get going." Claw took a piece of meat and stuffed her mouth full. She knew it wasn't going to last long between the four of them, and intended to eat as much as she could, as quick as she could. It wasn't every day they had fresh Mirelurk.


	5. Chapter 5

Several shots rang out through the still evening air; it was just after sunset, and Claw was grudgingly pleased with the progress they'd made. They hadn't hit any opposition since the river, and nearly twenty miles were between them and the outpost. The woman relaxed next to a small fire, their tent set up against some boulders. A cigarette in hand, she watched the three boys take potshots at several circling scavenger birds.

"No, you're not _leading_ them." Spike's irritated voice drifted over. "They're not tin cans, for fuck's sake." He aimed his rifle, face scunched in concentration, and fired. The low crack echoed across the empty land; one of the birds exploded in a cloud of black and brown feathers.

"Watch their movement," Samuel instructed, "aim where they're going to be, not where they are."

His own rifle was steadied against his shoulder, and Samuel breathed out slowly before he fired. A second bird plummeted toward the ground.

"That's what I said!" Spike exclaimed.

Claw fingered the hilt of her magnum, half tempted to join them; she watched Cutter aim his pistol, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, and fire several rapid shots. Over the echoes, she heard another bird squawk. It served in the air, and peeled away.

"I got it!" The boy cried excitedly.

"You _nicked_ it," Samuel shouldered his weapon with a beligerent grin. "Don't get cocky."

"You fucking missed," Spike told Cutter, "and _you_ got lucky," he drawled at Samuel. "Twenty caps says you don't hit shit in the first firefight."

The oldest boy nodded immediately.

"Another twenty says I get the first kill. One shot."

Spike's manic grin split his face. "That _is_ fun! We'll do that, I like caps."

"You're all morons," Claw commented, reclining on one hand and crossing her ankles. "Go get those birds, they're going in the pot."

As darkness settled across the Wastes, Cutter, Samuel and Claw talked around the fire. The woman had banished Spike to the other side of the rocks to clean his bird, telling him she didn't want feathers all over camp. Samuel already had his catch plucked and wrapped, left near the cooking utensils until Spike returned. In his absence, they managed to carry on a conversation that didn't devolve into Claw hitting someone.

Samuel told them all about living in the trading outpost, how he'd watched it grow around him from a few merchants and repairmen into an actual settlement. He also had a few outrageous hunting stories; at the apex of the worst one, the woman let out a snort of derisive laughter.

"What?" Samuel frowned. "I was just getting to the good part!"

"Damn," she drawled, "you're gonna top three men killing a Porker with their bare hands? That's impressive. By all means, I'm enjoying the bullshit."

"Yeah, yeah." Samuel stretched, popping his back a few times. "I'm full of shit, I'm just a kid telling stories, like you're the only one who's ever walked away from something that shoulda killed you twice." He snorted. "You could at least pretend to be interested, since we don't have anything better to do."

"Claw's no fun." Cutter made a face at the woman. "It's only 'cause she's old."

Claw scowled darkly.

"I'm twenty six," she snapped, "I'm not _old_."

"Right." Samuel grinned at Cutter; the boy grinned back. "How much money do you have on making thirty, again?"

"The both of you come closer and say that."

"What?" Samuel gave her a sideways look. "Too stiff to get up?"

"Oh, that's it-" Claw was halfway up when a bloody, plucked bird landed in her lap. She screeched, and flung it away; behind her, Spike exclaimed indignantly.

"What the hell, boss? I cleaned it like you said; you went and got it all full of dirt!"

"_You_ what the hell!" Claw leapt up and swung at Spike; he was ready for her that time, and evaded her hand, giving her a look that might have been wounded. It was hard to tell under all the swelling. "What the fuck made you think I'd want it _thrown on me_?"

"I cleaned it." Spike repeated as he dodged her again, twisting his skinny body at what looked like an impossible angle. "You always say I can't butcher for shit. Figured you'd want to do it yourself."

Claw took one last futile swing, then gave up; she plopped down near the fire, panting slightly and glaring to cover her wounded pride.

"You goddamn asshole. Go find your fucking bird."

"I dunno." The young man crossed his arms. "Are you gonna throw it again?"

"I'll shove it right up your ass if I feel like it-"

"That doesn't sound like fun for me," Spike interrupted. "Make the Yup do it." His eyes glazed over. "What? It was a lucky shot!"

"Christ." Claw covered her face with both hands. "Sam," her voice was muffled, "go get his fucking bird."

"What? Why?" He demanded.

"Because it'll be a lot quicker this way, and I'm hungry." Claw glared. "Otherwise, make _him_." She jerked a thumb at Spike.

"Come on, Yup." Spike's face split into a toothy grin. "It's about time for that dance, huh? I've been waiting all day."

Samuel stood up and spat at the younger man's feet. "I'm getting sick of your attitude, _buddy_." He raised his fists with a glare. "I was gonna let it go, since you're not really worth the effort, but you just can't stop." He popped his neck. "Call me a Yup again."

"Samuel, don't!" Cutter made to grab his shirt; Claw got ahold of the boy first, pulling him down in the dirt beside her.

"It's going to happen, now's as good a time as any," she told him. "Don't break anything," she yelled at the older boys.

"Damn it, boss," Spike jerked his head back and forth, cracking his own neck, "you never let me have any fun. Well?" He bounced on the balls of his feet. "You gonna go find that bird? Yup?"

With an angry yell, Samuel sprung at him; Spike sidestepped easily, still grinning. The eldest boy spun back around, and threw a high punch. Spike caught his fist, swept it down and behind Samuel's back, and drove a knee into his stomach.

Samuel hit the ground with a strained grunt. Spike took a few steps back, feet spread and fists at shoulder level.

"Get up, I didn't hit you hard." Spike tossed his head, flicking back a few lank strings of black hair. "Don't be a pussy."

Gasping for breath, Samuel pushed himself to his feet. He lunged for the younger man again, fists swinging like mad. Spike weaved almost lazily around the flurry; for a good fifteen seconds, Samuel swung over and over, every now and again managing to brush clothing. The oldest boy grew angrier with every miss, face flushed and breathing elevated.

"Quit dancing around and fucking fight!" he shouted, then nearly fell as Spike took one fluid step to the side and kicked the bottom of his foot.

"Hey Cutter, you were right!" Spike grinned at the boy, who had both hands pressed against his mouth. "That is funny! Maybe I _won't_ put a Creeper in your sleeping roll!"

Samuel gave a wordless shout of rage, regaining his balance and launching himself at Spike. This time, Spike stood his ground. His left arm flew straight out, hand in a fist. Samuel's momentum carried him right into it, striking him square in the solar plexus. He curled in on himself, the air driven from his lungs; Spike took a step back, fell into a crouch, and swept his legs out. He caught Samuel behind the ankles, knocking them clean out from under him, and was back on his feet before Samuel hit the ground. There was an unpleasant /thud as his head struck the hardpan. Samuel stared up into the night sky, eyes crossed, and struggled for wheezing gasps of air.

"Goddamn, you're slow." Spike leaned over to leer at Samuel, then glanced at his hand; freshly-scabbed knuckles had broken open, and rivulets of blood ran down his fingers. Spike sucked on the wound, then spat on Samuel's chest.

"Fuckin' Yup."

"Are we done?" Claw demanded. "I'd really like to eat sometime before sunrise."

Samuel had rolled onto his side, still wheezing. Cutter darted toward him, worry furrowing his young face.

"You ok, Samuel?" he asked, offering a hand. It was slapped away; the boy's face crumpled as Samuel growled at him.

"Fuck off," he gasped, eyes fixed firmly on the dirt. Cutter backed away, frowning in dejected confusion.

"Leave him alone, Cutter," Claw admonished. "Go get the rest of dinner, it went that way." She waved off into the darkness. Cutter gave Samuel one last hurt look, then did as he was told.

"Yeah, I saw." Spike was muttering to himself, knuckles back in his mouth. "Faster on that side, though." He laughed, the sound muffled by his fist. "Nah, I bet I get it every time. Did you see the look on his face when he was going down?"

He spit out more blood, then examined his hand critically. He was apparently satisfied, and plopped himself in front of the fire. He grinned at Claw, who returned a deadpan stare.

"Happy?" she asked without much interest.

Spike stared skyward for a moment as he contemplated.

"Yeah, I guess," he drawled. "Too bad he's so fucking slow. You're way more fun."

"Shut up." Claw rolled her eyes, and began assembling a small tripod. "Quit sulking," she called over her shoulder at Samuel, still laying in the dirt, "he's done that to me and Cutter more times than I can count. No one thinks you're a pussy."

"I do," Spike corrected her.

"See?" Claw tried to slap his shoulder; Spike sidled out of the way as though he'd meant to move all along. "No one who matters thinks you're a pussy." She nodded at Cutter, who'd returned with the infamous bird in one hand. "Right, kid?"

"I'm sorry." Cutter hung his head and passed the carcass to Claw. "I didn't mean to make you mad. I just thought he hurt you."

"I'm _fine_," Samuel growled. He stood up, an arm wrapped around his ribs; refusing to meet their eyes, he stormed over to where they'd tethered the Brahmin, just outside the ring of firelight, and stared off into the night.

Claw turned the dead bird over a few times, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "All that bullshit over six pounds of skin and bone."

Kneeling beside one of the flatter rocks, she pulled out her knife and went to work preparing the carcasses. She set the edible organs to one side, and had Cutter cut them into pieces while she did the same to the rest of the meat. It, and a handful of beans, were all thrown together in a pot of water and hung over the fire.

Spike had taken off into the darkness soon after they began butchering, completely ignoring Claw when she demanded to know where he thought he was going. She briefly considered sending Cutter after him; in retrospect, Claw decided she simply wasn't in the mood for any more bullshit.

"He'll be back in time to eat," she grumbled to herself.

Seating herself again, Claw pulled out another cigarette; she glanced in Samuel's direction, giving his back another frown. He hadn't moved an inch the entire time they were working, staring out into the blackness. She opened her mouth to make a disparaging remark, remembered her earlier thoughts on bullshit, and closed it again.

Cutter plopped down beside the woman, chin on his knees and arms wrapped around his legs. He was frowning as he stared into the fire.

"You shoulda let me stop him," he spoke softly. "Goddamn Spike. I think you should hit him more."

Claw sighed, tapping a bit of ash on the ground beside her.

"All that does is make _me_ feel better." She glanced at Cutter. "You know his brain is broken, and no, trying to stop him would have made it worse." She shook her head once, and leaned over to ruffle the boy's hair.

"It's different when you grow up," she told him, a dry half-smile creasing her face. "Even if you'd warned him, tried to convince him to just go get the stupid fucking _bird_-" Claw couldn't help but pause and grip the bridge of her nose, "they would've fought, Spike's been begging for it all day. He would have gotten knocked flat, and felt like that much more of an asshole because you, a little kid, told him so."

"Hey," Cutter swatted at her arm, "Just this morning you said I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Well obviously I lied, unless your armor's on good and tight in the morning. You're changing the subject."

The boy sighed.

"D'you think he'll still be mad at me tomorrow?"

"Cutter, he's not mad at you." The woman's smile grew slightly. "He's mad he got his ass handed to him by a scrawny moron. You of all people should know what that feels like."

Cutter leaned over, resting his head on Claw's shoulder. "It's not _that_ big a deal."

"Because you're a kid." Claw held her cigarette between her lips and started working out a snarl in the boy's blonde hair. "It's different when you're older _and_ bigger. Me, he's got almost two feet on, so it's a little less mortifying."

"What's mortifying?"

"Really, really embarrassed." She gave an especially persistent knot a yank. "For instance, Spike ought to be mortified about the way he smells, and Samuel is mortified right now."

Cutter winced, head jerking away reflexively. "Ow, you're pulling."

"_You_ should feel mortified you let it get this way." Claw continued her efforts without a trace of sympathy. "You're supposed to pull out the big ones every morning. I'm getting tired of saying it, and next time you decide to rent your hair out to rats, I'm chopping it all off."

"You'd have to catch me, first." The boy leaned on her shoulder again. Claw tapped the ash off her cigarette, then went back to work.

"Try me. I'd love to mortify you in front of the guys."

"Ok, ok, I know what mortifying means." Cutter rolled his eyes at her. "You can stop."

"_Can_ I?" Claw pulled his hair again, this time on purpose. "Just because you're almost as tall as me doesn't mean you get to start being a smartass. I've got more than enough of that shit to deal with already."

"How was that being a smartass?" The boy stuck out his tongue. "All I said is I know what it means; you were starting to sound like a broken holotape."

"Fine." She smacked the back of his head without any real force. "But you were sure as hell being one that time. Do you want your hair untangled or not?"

Cutter scoffed at her.

"I don't give a shit if my hair's tangled."

Claw yanked again.

"What have I been telling you about saying shit?"

"You just said I'm almost as tall as you!"

"Almost, you little punk." Claw pushed him aside, leaning forward to stir the pot. "Don't start, my feet and legs are killing me." She let out a grumbling sigh. "I let myself get out of shape. Stupid."

"I don't hurt." Cutter returned his head to the woman's shoulder when she relaxed.

"That's because you're always running or fighting with Spike." Her fingers moved unconsciously back to his hair. "Spaz."

"Jealous."

"Shut up, Cutter."

Claw continued working on Cutter's hair while the pot slowly came to a boil. She'd glance in Samuel's direction every now and again; he still had yet to move, both arms wrapped around himself. The woman rolled her eyes after the fifth time, unable to help herself any longer.

"Would you knock it off?" She called in his direction, "it's not like standing there moping is going to make you a better brawler. Get your ass over here, it's almost time to eat."

Samuel shrugged one shoulder, otherwise remaining motionless. Cutter, who'd looked over when Claw spoke, frowned again.

"C'mon, Samuel," his voice was subdued, "aren't you hungry?"

The oldest boy shook his head once.

Spike suddenly plopped down on Claw's other side, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

"Good." He was grinning again. "I'll eat his."

"There you are." Claw's tone was unenthused. "Where were you?"

"Looking," Spike replied simply. "How about that food, I'm fucking starving."

"Shocking." The woman shook her head, making the claws in her earlobes wobble. She took a battered tin bowl and large spoon from the small pile of sundries nearby, ladling herself a portion of grayish meat chunks, beans, and watery broth. She gave it a sniff, took a sip, and grimaced.

Spike elbowed Cutter out of the way when the boy tried to take the spoon. Refusing to use both hands, Spike nearly knocked the tripod into the fire; a quick grab by Claw saved the rest of the thin stew and burned her palm. She was still swearing while Cutter took his portion.

"Idiot," she snapped, shaking her hand to try and soothe the pain. "I don't care what random crazy bullshit you're doing this time, but knock it the fuck off."

Spike was hissing loudly as he drew air in between his teeth, cooling the large gulp he'd already taken. Cutter gave him a disgusted look over the lip of his bowl as he blew carefully on the contents. Spike returned the look, and swallowed loudly.

Claw, resigned to the short line of blisters already forming on her palm, picked up the last bowl and set her own next to Cutter. Spike watched her carefully, teeth working furiously at a piece of gristle. She gave him a menacing glare.

"Touch my food, I'll shoot you in the knee and leave you here."

"Sure, boss," he mumbled around the mouthful. "What about Cutter's?"

"Try. See what happ- no," she cut herself off, no longer addressing anyone in particular, "he'd do it as soon as I turned my back." She closed her eyes briefly and sighed through her nose, then scooped stew into the last bowl.

"You can have what's left in the pot. I hope you spill it on yourself."

She walked over to Samuel, the steaming bowl in her uninjured hand. Standing beside the young man, she stood in silence and stared into the night with him.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust from the firelight. Claw gazed across the barren landscape, barely illuminated by ghostly starlight. Silhouettes of dead, twisted trees seemed to reach toward the sky like skeletal fingers, nearly invisible against the darkness. They would sometimes appear to move a foot or so in her peripheral; Claw felt a small shiver crawl up her spine when a low, throaty howl reached her ears. Whatever had made the noise was some distance away, but she still found herself brushing the grip of her magnum for reassurance.

As the echoes faded, her hand dropped, and she cleared her throat.

"Hope it doesn't get any closer. I'm not much in the mood to deal with wildlife."

She held out the bowl in response to Samuel's continued silence.

"Here. It's awful."

He eventually accepted, still refusing to look at her. Claw made an irritated noise in the back of her throat.

"You're going to have to get over it," she told him crossly. "Think about it this way- it's good practice. When you can kick his ass, you'll be able to beat the shit out of just about anyone."

"Sure." Samuel lifted the bowl, sniffed once, and lowered it again. "Look, I just..." He scrubbed his free hand through his hair forcefully. "I'm fine. It's fine. I just need a minute."

"Whatever." Claw turned back toward the fire. "We're moving out at dawn. Are you sleeping in the tent with us?"

The young man shrugged. "Probably not."

Claw returned the gesture. "Watch out for Creepers."

Both heads on the Brahmin lowed softly as she made her way back to the fire. Claw sat herself between Spike and Cutter; the former was watching her with an odd, unreadable look on his face. He returned his attention to the nearly-empty bowl in his hand, and finished off the dregs.

"Your cooking fucking sucks," he told her, holding the bowl in the crook of his elbow and taking the last of the stew. "Don't we have any salt or something?"

"Put dirt in it," Cutter spoke up, poking unenthusiastically at his own food. "There's salt in dirt, right, Claw?"

"Ha ha ha," Spike spat sarcastically, "like I'd fall for that again."

"This is better dirt." Claw's mouth twitched. "Much saltier than last time."

"The both of you can go fuck yourselves and die." He flipped her off, still holding the bowl with his elbow. "One time. _One_ time while I was high."

"Twice," Cutter corrected.

"I wasn't talking to you," the young man snapped; his face suddenly brightened considerably. "Good idea." He tugged on Claw's shirt.

"Hey, hey boss. Guess what?"

Claw took a drink of the bland, gritty stew, fighting down the urge to gag.

"No."

"Aw, c'mon." Spike was practically beaming at her. "It's a good one."

"_No_." Claw glared at him, drained her bowl in one long gulp, and shuddered. "You've been more of a pain in my ass than usual for days, I'm not in the mood for fucking 'guess what'. Finish your food, Cutter."

"Aw, Claaaw..." the boy whined.

Spike wasn't giving up that easily . "Come on, guess!"

"Don't 'awww' me, eat." Claw pointedly ignored the young man. "You're starting to look like _him_."

"Boss, guess what?"

"I ate plenty today, I had that Mirelurk, like three pieces of jerky-"

"Guess what?"

"That and a few lizards isn't enough. We had a good hike today."

"Guess what?"

"But it tastes like sh...like crap."

"Guess what, boss."

"I know, I was there, don't make me force-feed you."

"Hey, guess what?"

"Can't I just have Cram or something?"

"Boss, guess what!"

"I'm not dipping into the canned stuff while we've got game, I don't care what it tastes like. _Finish_."

"Guess what?"

"I ate most of it!"

"Boss. You have to guess."

"Eat the rest."

"Guess what?"

"Pleeeease don't make me finish? Spike can have it."

"Yes please. Guess what?"

"You need to eat. You're growing, you don't want to get stuck short like me."

"Guess what?"

"But I'm gonna throw up!"

"Hey boss."

"Coming from the kid who eats lizards. I don't think so."

"Guess what?"

"Really, I am, it's worse than ant!"

"Hey, guess what?"

"Quit insulting my cooking and finish. I had to eat it, you have to eat it."

"Awww..."

"Guess what?"

"I _swear_ to god," Claw rounded on Spike, "what do I have to do for ten seconds of _quiet_?"

Spike crossed his arms. "You have to guess."

"For the love-" she gripped her head in both hands. "There's a bat in my hair. You saw a falling star. Cutter just turned into a motherfucking mole rat, _what_?"

"No, no, maybe. Keep guessing."

Claw growled.

"Enough. Either tell me what you want, or go away. I'm not. Fucking. Playing."

"Just a few more." Spike tried to pout, the swelling on his face making it more of a horrific grimace. "I'll give you a hint. You're gonna be mad."

"Well the end result's all the same, then." The woman glared at him.

"You're no fun tonight. Fine, don't guess." Spike stood halfway up, then paused, frowning. "She doesn't want to play." Another pause. "But that's not how it works! _Fine_, but you're fucking it up." He rose fully to his feet. "We're being followed," he told Claw casually.


	6. Chapter 6

Claw stared at Spike with a blank expression for a good twenty seconds. He stared back, grinning as wide as his mouth would stretch.

"Told you you'd be mad. It was a good one, right?"

Claw finally found her voice; it came out as a whisper of barely-contained rage. "How long."

"Well," Spike tugged the short whiskers under his lower lip, "probably since the outpost. I mean, you took most of the pay in caps, right? I'd rob the shit out of us."

"How long." Claw took a breath. "Have you known."

"Oh. Uh," Spike tried to run a hand through the tangled black mess on his head, "maybe...four hours?" His fingers got stuck, and he yanked brutally. "I mean, I wasn't sure until five minutes ago, but- shut up, I'm talking! You said that fifty thousand times, I'm telling you, it's no big deal! " Spike gripped his head in one hand. "Hell no, I don't want her touching it!"

"Will you focus?" Claw snarled, grabbing his shoulders. "Never mind you didn't think the fact that _we're being tailed_ wasn't important enough to bring up sooner. Tell me what you know." She glanced around, half expecting a raiding party to descend on the camp.

"One person and a dog. _Wait_, asswipe." He glared at nothing. "God, can you believe this guy? It's fine, you fucking worry too much." A short pause. "How?"

Claw gave him a good shake, teeth bared. "_Idiot_! Look at me, _look at __**me**_! One person. A scout?"

"Probably not," Spike gazed skyward, "unless it's a really shit scout. Didn't even put themselves against the sunset. Kinda weird, really, doesn't seem like they're trying to catch up. No it doesn't! Fuck you, Steel, I'm better at this and you know it."

Claw's open hand drew back of its own accord; she forced it down with visible difficulty. Spike flinched back just far enough to be out of reach.

"First off," her tone was quiet and dangerous, "how far do you go from camp at night."

"He wasn't _that_ far, only a mile and-"

"_Secondly_," Claw snapped, "you almost gave me a heart attack. Why wouldn't you tell me they're not hostile?"

"I didn't say they were." Spike flicked absentmindedly at his jacket lapel. "And you should have guessed."

Claw let out a barking laugh. "You're a fucking moron, and you're taking the mid-watch." She scooped up a handful of dirt and started scrubbing out her bowl, grumbling angrily under her breath.

"Hey, don't be like that." Spike knelt next to her and clapped a hand on her shoulder. "I would've told you if it were Raiders."

Claw shrugged him off forcibly. "Get away from me. I'm pissed, and I'm done with your bullshit tonight. I'm getting another _fucking_ headache, so I'm going to be like this if I feel like it." She glared venomously. "I mean it. Piss off."

Spike frowned at her. "Jesus, you shoulda said something sooner. Gimmie that." He deftly yanked the bowl out of her hands. "Go to sleep. The Yup'll take first watch." He raised his voice in Samuel's direction. "Hear that, pussy? Boss has a headache. Be quiet."

Claw opened her mouth to demand he follow his own advice when she noticed the poorly-wrapped, dirty bandage on Spike's left hand. Instead, she glared at him accusatorially.

"What is that."

Spike tried to hide his hand behind his back, eyes refusing to meet hers.

"What's what?" he lied.

Claw glared up at him.

"I told you not to break anything."

Spike's eyes fell to the ground and he shifted back and forth, a chagrined expression on his face.

"It's not bad," he muttered. "Steel worries too much."

"...god damn it." Claw gave her eyeballs a poke, resigned to the ever-worsening migraine. "Sit down. Give me your fucking hand. Cutter, I need you to finish the dishes. Go get Sam to help you." She impatiently motioned Spike down; he complied hesitantly, still frowning.

"You should get to sleep," the young man told her, green eyes glittering in the firelight. "You're gonna puke again."

"Probably." Claw rooted through her pack for a bundle of medical supplies, then took him none too gently by the arm and began unwrapping Spike's sloppy bandaging. "But you're worthless to me with a gimp hand. Didn't even bother to set the bones, did you? Would've had to break them again." She tossed the dirty bandages into the fire with a sneer. "This is ridiculous. I told you, I _told_ you-"

"Hey," the young man snapped, "I didn't fucking do it on purpose, ok? He came at me harder than I expected." A pause. "I know, all right?"

Claw ground her teeth as she examined Spike's hand. His third and fourth knuckles were still oozing, bone poking through the skin of both unnaturally bent fingers.

"You're going to want the belt," she told him crossly. "Punching a chestplate. So you winded him through his armor, proud of yourself?"

"I was making a point," Spike told her through gritted teeth. "And yeah, kind of. Take it easy, huh?"

"Shut up and get your belt," Claw grumbled, bending his wrist back and forth twice. A strangled grunt of pain rumbled in Spike's throat as he flipped his buckle open with his free hand.

"Dipshit." Claw glared at him. "You sprained your wrist, too."

"Tell me about it," Spike grumbled. "Fuckin' Yup's got some meat on him." He stared pointedly at Samuel, who was following Cutter back toward the fire. He got a blazing scowl in return, and grinned despite Claw's not-so-gentle attention to his injured hand. "Have fun with the dishes, Yu-" he cut himself short with a yelp as Claw poked his knuckle with her fingertip.

"I can't believe I'm going to waste a Stim on this bullshit. Belt. Now."

Spike rolled his eyes, yanking his belt loose and holding it out. Claw took it and folded it over several times, then shoved it into Spike's mouth.

"Ok," she began, closing her eyes against a fresh stab of pain behind them. "On three."

She took the end of his ring finger in a firm grip; Spike garbled something incomprehensible through clenched teeth, giving her an accusatory look.

"One," Claw said, as Spike's teeth dug further into the leather. She yanked immediately, and the meaty crunch of bones settling back into place was drowned out just as quickly by his strangled cry of pain.

"Almost over, idiot." Claw grabbed his middle finger. "Ready?"

Spike shook his head vehemently. Claw yanked anyway, her own teeth set. The young man's outburst was quieter the second time; as soon as she released his finger, he slumped forward, belt falling to the ground as he took in heaving gasps of air.

"Fuck fuck fuck _fuck_," a few fat tears squeezed past his clenched eyelids, "what did I say, this is why I didn't wanna tell her, fucking three my ass." He raised his head to glare at Claw, wiping away the moisture with the back of his good hand. "Just once, you could go on three."

"Shut. Up." The woman took a Stimpak and jabbed Spike just above the wrist. He grunted, teeth grinding audibly as the swelling began to recede and fresh scar tissue crept up his knuckles.

"So what do we do?" Samuel asked, looking up from the cooking pot. Claw glanced at him briefly, forehead creased against her ever-worsening headache.

"Huh?"

"Someone's following us." Samuel looked at her like she was stupid. "What do we do about it?"

Claw returned the look, managing a good deal more scorn. "Nothing." She returned her attention to Spike's hand; Samuel grunted in disbelief.

"Nothing," he repeated incredulously. "We're just going to keep going like everything's fine."

Claw huffed. "It's one person, not a raiding group. Right now, everything /is fine. If that changes, we'll deal with it."

"Maybe he's right," Cutter interjected. "I mean, shouldn't we do something, set up a tripwire around camp, maybe?"

"Do whatever you want." Satisfied that all Spike's bones were back where they belonged, Claw shoved his hand away. "But I'm not doing shit besides taking my watch," she continued, wincing when her headache spiked again. "Feel free to go out there and look. I'm sure you won't get killed and eaten."

Samuel's expression darkened several shades.

"We need to keep our eyes open," the young man persisted. "It could be a scout after all, trying to get our guards down by playing dumb."

"It's _not_ a scout," Spike insisted, "anyone with half a brain knows how to hide in the sun."

"That's good tactical thinking," Claw told Samuel, "so make sure to keep a careful lookout tonight." Her head was in agony, the sensation of hot pokers in her eyes making the firelight unbearable. "I'm going to bed. Keep the noise down."

She stood up slowly; her stomach roiled, and she nearly lost her dinner. Shielding her eyes from the fire, she crawled into the tent and fell face-first on her sleeping roll. Pressing her face into the bundle of clothes that served as a pillow, she unstrapped her magnum, lay it near her hand, and finally allowed herself a soft moan of distress.

'_Fucking_ headache. Two in less than a week. This is a sign, it's a fucking sign, on top of everything else? Has to be. Should turn us right the fuck around. It'd be too bad about Brian, but I'd send the caps back with the kid and be halfway to D.C. before he's got the funds to send someone after the supplies.'

She knew it was wishful thinking, and sighed.

'Honest mercs end up dead. Gotta quit being so fucking nice. After this run, maybe head south. Haven't seen what's there yet.'

She drifted into an uneasy sleep, the pain of her headache ever present in the background. She thought she heard the boys holding quiet conversations, but the words were nonsense and she couldn't focus on them. Bits and shreds of dreams chased though her head. A few were benign; most involved horrifically violent death.

_Boss_!

'Oh HELL no. I get enough of you during the day, get out of my head.'

A gunshot, this one very real and very close, had her on her feet, magnum in hand, before she was fully aware of being awake.

"Boss!" Spike shouted again. "We got a problem!"

Cutter had fallen asleep beside her sometime earlier, and was now scrambling for his own weapon. Claw was already outside, pressed tight to the rock they were camped against.

The fire was nothing but glowing red embers, casting little light on the wilderness. The stars seemed much bigger and brighter than she remembered; it had to be very early in the morning. Her headache had faded significantly, though the sound of the shots had brought it back and made her feel like she'd taken them through the eye.

A rifle cracked again in the darkness, the flash from the barrel blindingly bright. Samuel's profile was stuck in her vision for several seconds.

"What's going on?" she snapped, looking around for Spike.

"Wolves," Spike's voice called from above her. He'd somehow managed to get himself to the top of the seventeen foot boulder, and was aiming the opposite direction. "Dunno how many-"

"One less," Samuel interrupted. "Forty caps, buddy."

"This ain't a firefight," Spike told him, then fired his own rifle. "Shut up and kill some goddamn wolves."

Claw could see at least five large shapes looming nearby, moving with a liquid grace that made her stomach clench. She swore mentally, pulling back the hammer on her gun.

'Should have set up better defenses. What the fuck is wrong with me, if I die tonight, I damn well deserve it.'

"Protect the Brahmin," she snapped, already sprinting toward the panicked creature. Cutter was right on her heels, followed closely by Samuel. They surrounded Steaks, watching numerous pairs of luminescent eyes draw nearer. The Brahmin snorted and tossed its heads frantically while pawing at the hardpan. Every one of its instincts demanded a swift retreat, but it had been conditioned over many years to stay near humans.

Samuel and Spike fired again, almost simultaneously. Claw heard a loud, guttural yelp nearby, and Spike swore.

"Bullshit, I hit 'em dead on!"

One of the smaller beasts nearby snarled, and lunged forward. It was too dark to see clearly, but there was no mistaking the long lanky body, snubbed snout, and the maw of teeth inside. By themselves, wolves weren't particularly dangerous, at least not against someone who could aim a gun. However, they tended to travel in packs of at least twenty, some much larger, and were fiendishly clever.

Claw knew they were already surrounded. She mentally cursed herself again for not taking better precautions, for letting the boys be so loud, for not automatically assuming they'd be attacked in the middle of the night...

_I'm going soft. I guess I am getting old_.

A surge of white-hot anger rushed over her. Five thousand caps was a lot of money, and she had extravagant plans for it that she didn't intend to forfeit that easily. She aimed carefully, one foot planted firmly behind her, and fired.

The bullet ripped through the beasts chest, and it tumbled in a bloody heap across the ground. The magnum's kick nearly made the small woman fall, throwing her arms upward.

Cutter fired three shots before she'd lined up a second. She heard another yelp over the ringing in her ears; it had come from directly behind her. The boy was staring wide-eyed at a corpse not ten feet away, face sallow. He snapped out of it almost instantly when Claw shot again, the roar of the large handgun making him cringe despite himself.

"There's more!" Spike called down. "Counted fifteen. They ain't backin' off."

"_Shit_," Claw swore. Samuel fired, chambered another round, and fired again in less than two seconds.

"I fucking _told you so_," he yelled. "If _dipshit_ had kept the fire going-"

"_**Not now**_!" She fired a third shot, and missed horribly. The wolf she'd been aiming for was bounding closer, leaping back and forth in an erratic pattern that was impossible to anticipate. Her headache was back with a vengeance, nearly incapacitating her with every gunshot. "How's the ammo?"

"Fifteen rounds." Samuel snapped a fresh clip into his rifle.

"Cutter?" The woman demanded, eyes flicking back and forth between more slinking shapes that had materialized out of the darkness.

"Five shots left in this one, two spare magazines," the boy replied breathlessly, and swallowed hard. "Claw, they're getting closer."

"I can see that," she snapped, and managed to bring down another wolf with an explosion of light and noise. This time, she couldn't keep from flinching. "Spike, how you doing?"

"_I'm_ fine, because I'm the only one smart enough to stand where they can't reach me." He let out a brief burst of hysterical laughter. "Forget the fuckin' Brahmin and get up here!"

"They're expensive!" Claw screamed, most of her rational thought lost to adrenaline and pain that threatened to split her head like an overripe Mutfruit. In retrospect, it was probably best to get Cutter out of reach, and quickly. He was small and easy to drag away.

She opened her mouth to order him up the rock, and found herself unable to think of the words. Her vision began to go double, then narrowed as though she were being swept backwards into a long tunnel. Vomit rose in her throat.

'Oh fuck no.' It was getting harder and harder to think past the white-hot skewers in her brain. 'I am not passing out in the mid-'

The ground leapt up at her.

* * *

"_Claw_!"

Cutter's anguished cry drew Spike's attention immediately. Its cause made his stomach twist into hard knots.

_Well, shit._

The woman was lying face down, her gun several feet away from her limp hand. She wasn't moving.

The wolves, most of which had been keeping some distance from the group, moved almost as one toward the suddenly-vulnerable target. Spike's fingers were a blur as he fired and chambered another round. One beast dropped. The other boys were still shooting as well, and three more followed in rapid succession. They'd thinned the pack by at least half, but the rest were getting much too close for comfort.

Spike fired again, and missed a vital spot. The wolf stumbled, but righted itself quickly, snarling and snapping in pain. He'd been a hair from pulling the trigger again when it fell and tumbled across the ground, suddenly much too limp.

'Goddamn Yup stole my kill.' Spike picked another target quickly; he had plenty to choose from. He brought another wolf down with a neat head shot, and two more took its place. They were making a final push, the allure of the unconscious woman too much to resist.

"You fucking coward, get down here and help!" Samuel screamed.

"I am helping!" Spike yelled with equal ire. "I need fucking range for this gun!"

_You're going to regret it_.

"_**Fuck off**_!" He demanded of the voice in his head, struggling to focus as another beast shot toward Claw.

Cutter screeched, an ear-piercing sound that made Spike's flesh crawl. The boy fired wildly, taking an extra three shots as the wolf collapsed not five feet from her. The rest had stopped advancing, sizing them up anew.

There were seven left that he could see. They seemed to be considering their losses more carefully, backing up several paces. They continued to slink back and forth, keeping his sights moving constantly. He fired, missed again, and had to reload.

_Told you so_.

He noticed far too late that Cutter and Samuel were doing the same. The wolves, however, had been paying more careful attention. The largest one dashed forward, was on top of Claw before Cutter's scream had reached its peak, and drug her away as though she were no more than a rag doll. It fell in behind the remainder of the pack, which vanished into the night.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Spike slammed the clip home, chambered a round, and fired blindly after them. He knew logically that it was a stupid thing to do, that he was just as likely to hit her as the creatures, but his thoughts had become a static, white noise. He jumped off the rock, hitting the ground in a roll and barely managing to keep from braining himself with his rifle.

He sprinted after them. Spike had always prided himself on his speed, among many other things, but had no illusions of catching up before the woman was dead. It didn't matter. He would find her, he would kill them all, and he would sit down beside her corpse and wait to see what happened next.


	7. Chapter 7

Samuel watched, as if through eyes not his own, the wolf bear down on Claw. His mind screamed at him to do something, but didn't bother to offer any helpful tips on what or how.

Cutter's scream chilled him to the bone. As Claw was dragged away, the boy dry-fired his pistol over and over, still holding the magazine in his other hand. Samuel tried to get a bead on the retreating creature. It was too dark; everything after thirty feet blended into the same indistinct, dusky shadows.

Spike flew past, legs a blur and coat streaming out behind him. Cutter was hot on his heels, sucking back violent sobs. Left alone with the Brahmin, which had calmed considerably now that the predators were out of its vicinity, Samuel swore and wracked his brain for a plan.

He didn't think he'd be able to catch up, even if he were willing to leave the thousands of caps worth of supplies behind. Best case scenario, he got lost in the dark. With his luck, he'd end up falling into a ditch and breaking his leg.

"Fucking shit." The young man buried his face in his hands. "I can't believe I fell asleep on _his_ watch, I knew something like this was going to happen."

With no better plan, he built the fire back up in its little depression and began moving the numerous carcasses away from camp. He contemplated burning them; Cutter would have an easier time finding his way back, but he was worried the smell would attract something even meaner than wolves. Without backup, he didn't fancy risking it.

The animals, nothing but dense bone and muscle, were heavier than they looked. By the time Samuel finished, he was out of breath and sweating even in the cool night air. It would be blazing hot in hours; everything else in the near future promised to be equally unpleasant.

"Dad's gonna be so fucking pissed," he muttered to himself.

'He shouldn't mind taking Cutter in,' the young man pondered, 'the kid's great with guns.' Samuel sighed sadly. 'He's gonna take it hard. At least we didn't get very far.'

He leaned against the boulder, rifle in hand, and kept an uneasy watch on the surrounding wasteland. His heart refused to quit pounding in his chest, and every small noise made him jump. The Brahmin, on the other hand, was perfectly content, both heads chewing quietly in an offbeat cadence.

Samuel found himself glaring at it. Brahmin were easy to replace, and not nearly as expensive as Claw seemed to have thought. He gave himself a mental thrashing for ignoring the woman's sudden lack of judgement, and another for not thinking of climbing the boulder himself.

As his father would say, there seemed to be some stupid in the air.

The eastern horizon had begun to blush with the faintest hint of light. Samuel contemplated eating, found he wasn't the least bit hungry, and returned to scanning the area. He hoped Cutter didn't take too long in saying his goodbyes. The trip back was going to drag on enough as it was.

* * *

"Oh hell, that isn't good." James Neeson dropped a pair of night vision binoculars around his neck and drew a laser pistol from his hip. The little girl crouched next to him frowned reproachfully.

"Daddy, that's bad words," she whispered. "Mommy's watching."

"Sorry, honey," he replied out of instinct, not particularly sure he wouldn't have the opportunity to apologize in person soon enough.

The remaining pack was headed right for him. He could only marvel at the luck that they'd attacked the caravan first, but it didn't seem to be holding out.

A large, shaggy dog nearby was growling and snapping at the air, begging to be turned loose against the howling monsters.

"Heel, Dioji!" James hissed, hunkering lower and aiming into the darkness. It was possible they would be ignored. Possible, but highly unlikely. The pack was on the hunt, their course steady.

His instincts screamed at him to run, but he forced himself to remain calm and take aim. The little girl buried her face in his side, small hands clutching his shirt with suprising strength.

James cranked the power output into the red zone. He knew it would drain the energy cell almost immediately, but if any of his shots weren't lethal, he wouldn't live to miss it.

"Don't open your eyes until Daddy says, all right?"

She nodded into his shirt silently.

"Good girl." He took a long, deep breath, and sent up a brief plea to anyone that might be listening.

The wolves' howling changed in tone, becoming clipped and shrill. They'd picked up the scent. James' heart thrashed against his ribcage when he began to make out movement; he set his teeth with grim determination.

"Dioji. Sic 'em."

The dog was off like a shot, his deep snarls vibrating at the base of James' skull. He smashed into the lead wolf like a ton of rocks, catching the larger animal off-guard and bowling it clean over. Dioji's teeth latched around its throat, and he began swiping mercilessly at the wolf's underbelly with his sharp back claws.

The awful sound of their fighting rent the night. They screeched and snarled like demons; the rest of the pack turned as one to assist. James let his mind slip downward, below coherent thoughts and into the realm of pure instinct. He would not miss. He _could_ not miss.

The little girl trembled fiercely against him, and began to make quiet choking noises.

"Shhh," James hushed, using the soft reassurance to breathe out. He fired, and a beam of red pierced the night with blinding brilliance. It struck one of the beasts just before it latched onto Dioji's back leg; with a flash of light, the wolf disintegrated into ash.

The others were briefly stunned, both by the light and the sudden disappearance of their comrade. Dioji finally managed to break through his opponent's thick hide, and tore its throat out with a spray of blood. In the starlight, it was black as oil.

The split second was all James needed to dispatch two more. He blinked furiously, trying to clear his eyes of the blinding afterimage from the pistol. He could already feel heat radiating from it. He'd be damned lucky if there was a fourth shot left in the energy cell.

He fired anyway. Luckily for him, there was still some charge. Not so luckily, his target had recovered its senses, and managed to avoid the shot by a hair. Dioji leapt in front of the wolf, which in turn bolted right past; it knew that a man with a gun was more dangerous than another, smaller animal, no matter how fiercely it fought.

The dog wasn't having any of it. He leapt again, landing on the wolf's back in a flurry of teeth. They were a blur of blood and flying fur, and James knew a good deal of it was Dioji's.

There was no time to worry about it, though.

Even through the battle fog in his head, James prayed.

_Please_.

There was one wolf left, and it was coming right for them. Time seemed slower than usual. He thought if he'd been inclined, it would be possible to count the thick ropes of saliva stretched between its fangs.

He pulled the trigger, waited for the blinding flash of red, and felt his stomach wrench when nothing happened.

'_Damn_ it.'

His finger pulled again, seemingly of its own accord, and held down the trigger. The pistol gave a protesting whine.

The bolt that shot out wasn't nearly as bright, but struck true. While the beast didn't vaporize, the small, smoking hole just above its muzzle was more than sufficient to take it down.

Dioji and the last wolf were still fighting, the noise making James' skin crawl. He wrung his hands around the pistol. Even if he weren't positive he'd just drained the cell, the animals were moving too quickly for him to line up a shot. His conscious thought had returned, and with it a good deal of guilt.

He desperately hoped the dog had another one in him.

There was a noise to his right. Something heavy was being dragged across the rocky ground; with sudden, sick realization, James recognized the sound as a limp body. There was a soft thud as it fell, and another wolf seemed to materialize in front of him. He barely had time to raise his arms before the beast hit.

He was knocked flat, head hitting the ground hard enough to make him see stars. The pistol skittered across the ground. Dazed, it took him a moment to realize he wasn't dead, and that the horrible screams filling his ears weren't the screeches of the damned. His hands were locked around the wolf's throat, keeping it from ripping his own open by a matter of inches. The beast's rancid breath smelled like death, and hot ropes of saliva were splattering across his face.

"**_Daddy_**!"

The little girl sat on the ground nearby, screaming for him over and over at the top of her lungs. The piercing sound cut into James like a knife.

"_Sarah, run_!" he cried, elbows beginning to tremble. He tried to get a grip on the wolf's windpipe, but there were layers of wiry muscles roiling against his fingers. James squeezed viciously, breaking the skin and digging in as hard as he could. "**_Go_**!"

A shrill, canine yelp cut through her shrieks of terror. James cried out in frustration, trying to get any bit of leverage against the beast. There wasn't much to be found. His arms were shaking fiercely, slowly but surely being pushed back. Fangs grazed his windpipe just hard enough to draw blood. The man closed his eyes.

'_I know I deserve this. But she doesn't. You know I tried, please, don't let her suffer. Please, Lord, let her use the pistol.'_

Strangely, James didn't feel the beast's teeth sink into his throat. However, the _crack_ as his neck snapped seemed deafening. Hot blood sprayed across his face.

"**_Daddy_**!"

He could still hear her screaming. James wasn't terribly surprised; he'd accepted that he was going to Hell a long time ago. He loathed to open his eyes, grimly waiting for his skin to start burning.

"_Fuck_ me, this is going to waste a lot of Stims."

A woman's voice.

_Catherine. No, please God, no. Not you too._

But it couldn't be her voice. This voice was deeper, gravelly; this voice smoked too many cigarettes and yelled, loudly and often.

He suddenly became aware that his opponent had gone limp. James dared to open his eyes, and found himself staring into the lifeless eyes of the wolf. A large, messy hole had decimated most of its forehead. The man took in a great gasp of breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and pushed the corpse off himself.

_'Thank you. I'll keep trying. I promise.'_

"_Daddy_!" Sarah bolted for him, sobbing uncontrollably, and threw herself into his waiting arms. James held her tight to his chest, his own body shaking in sporadic bursts.

"Are you all right, baby?"

She was crying too hard to respond, begining to hyperventillate. The man rocked her back and forth, crooning under his breath and patting her back gently.

"Why are you following me?"

The woman's voice again. James looked up, startled; he had nearly forgotten about her. She stood nearby, quite short and looking decidedly worse for wear. She clutched a smoking .9mm pistol in her left hand, and was pointing it right at him.

"Easy now," he spoke softly, "I don't mean you any harm. I'm just a traveler."

"I said." She glared furiously at him. "Why. The fuck. Are you following me."

"To let you clear the way!" James made sure he was positioned between his daughter and the woman's line of fire. "I'm a single man with a small child. As you just saw, I'm not exactly outfitted to defend us properly."

She lowered the gun slightly.

"Yeah, I was there." She winced visibly, eyes squinting. "Wasn't going so great for me, either." She took a few steps to the left, kicked the laser pistol away, then holstered and secured her own weapon. "Call me Claw. Thanks for getting in their way, I guess."

"James." He forced himself to relax slightly, once again patting the little girl on the back. She was crying more quietly now, arms latched around him. "You saved our lives. Thank you."

"Yeah," she agreed flatly. "But I guess we can call it even. I'm not in the mood to haggle right-" Her eyes suddenly went wide, and she scrambled for her weapon. "_Look out!_" Claw shouted. "There's another one!"

James whipped his head around, instinctively curling over Sarah. Something large and shaggy was limping toward them. His own eyes grew huge, he dropped the girl unceremoniously, and lunged for Claw's knees.

"_No_!"

He struck her just as she fired. The shot went wide, and they hit the ground hard. The gun went off again; James could feel the breeze as the bullet wizzed by his ear.

"_**What are you doing?!**_" the woman screeched as he latched onto her wrist, pointing the pistol skyward. "_It's right behind you!"_

"That's my dog!" he yelled back. James felt as though he might burst into simultanious laughter and tears. "It's just my dog," he repeated more quietly, releasing her as relief swept over his body.

"Dog. Just the goddamn dog." Claw flopped into the dirt, closing her eyes with a groan. "Idiot was right. He didn't guess the kid, though. Good, it'll bug him for days."

Sarah, surprisingly unflustered, threw herself around the dog's neck and buried her face in his ruff.

"Dioji! You did it, you did it! You're a good dog. Good Dioji."

The dog whined softly, craning his head to lick her cheek. One paw was clutched firmly to his underbelly, and there was a steady trickle of blood dripping into the parched dirt.

"_Claw_!" A faint cry carried through the still air. James tensed again, and scrambled to his feet.

"Just my boys," the woman told him, gripping her forehead. "About damn time. _Over here_!" she yelled, eyes clenched shut.

James stood up, and quickly moved to join his daughter in fawning over the dog. Dioji would need medical attention, but the wounds didn't seem life-threatening.

It wasn't long before the sound of running feet reached his ears. A tall, lanky young man came sprinting into sight, a hunting rifle swinging precariously from one shoulder. He skidded to a halt, tripped, and fell nearly on top of Claw. Rolling onto his side, he started laughing in sporadic bursts, gasping for breath.

"You...fuckin' scared us, boss! What the fuck...happened back there?"

"Headache," Claw snapped, holstering her pistol. "So this one's on you, too. That makes five."

"Four." He was beginning to catch his breath. "Tent wasn't my fault." He noticed James, and gave him a withering glare. "Oh look. You found the tail. Want me to kill 'em?"

"No." She groaned again. "Let me guess. You didn't bring any Stims."

"Yeah, you were being dragged off by wolves, so my first thought was, let's grab my pack!'" The young man was briefly overcome by another bout of cackling. "Besides, you should be dead."

"I'm invincible," she replied flatly. "Say hello to James." She nodded in his direction. "He got in the way."

"No," he told her. "I don't like his face."

"Big surprise." She rose slowly to her feet. "James, this useless bag of bones is Spike, my second-in-line. You won't like him."

"Hello," James said distractedly, more concerned for his dog than pleasantries. It was hard to tell how bad the gashes were in the low light.

_"Claw?!_" Another, younger voice called out, cracking with unshed tears. A boy bolted into view, let out a strangled cry, and flung himself at the woman. She winced and patted him awkwardly with her left hand, the right hanging useless at her side.

"Hey, Cutter. It's ok, kid. Calm down."

"You're alive," he sobbed, clinging to her fiercely. "Oh my god, Claw..."

"Yeah, I'm alive." She gave him a brief hug. "Not for lack of trying. Easy, that prick banged me up pretty good."

The boy released her with visible difficulty, struggling to hold back sniffles. A few tears leaked down his face even as he began to grin shakily.

"Sorry." Cutter hiccuped. " I can't believe you're alive. I thought I was gonna have to...I mean, I couldn't-"

"Don't." Claw ruffled his hair. "I'm alive, and the all-knowing idiot missed a head in his count. There's a kid, too."

"What?" Spike sat bolt upright. "No."

"Yes." The woman managed a strained smile, but it quickly cracked and fell. "Oh my god, _ow_." She staggered sideways, nearly losing her balance. Cutter's shoulder was under her arm instantly, his face etched with worry.

"We gotta get you back to camp," he told Claw, wiping at his nose with his free hand. "Did it break anything?"

"Right arm," she replied through gritted teeth.

"So boss, what were you saying about wasting Stims? Like hell, it's the same fuckin' difference."

"Not now," Claw begged, allowing Cutter to support most of her weight. "I'm too sore, I'm too pissed. I just want to get back and get some goddamn sleep."

James stood up, and turned toward her.

"I want to travel with you."

Claw blinked.

"No."

"It'll be worth your trouble," he insisted. "I'm a doctor, and despite what happened tonight, I'm damn decent with a gun."

"No," Claw repeated, frowning dully at him. "I'm not a babysitter. No free rides."

"Obviously." James met her gaze firmly. "You won't have to slow down for us, and I won't be needing any of your supplies. Think of it as payment for saving my life. I'd say having a trained doctor along can only work in your favor."

"Doctor, you mentioned that," Claw said. "Know much about headaches?"

* * *

"What the fuck...?"

Samuel squinted into the rising sun, certain he was seeing things. A group of people were heading his way, one of them strangely shaped and moving with an erratic limp.

"Hey, Yup!" Spike's grating voice came from the tallest figure, waving one hand. "Get the meds out, the boss decided she wanted to waste a few Stims."

"_Fuck_ you, asshole." Claw's voice was exhausted and strained, but quite alive. Samuel stared at the man behind her, the little girl clutched in his arms, and a badly-limping dog.

"Jesus Christ, what _now_?" he wondered aloud, making his way quickly to the supplies and retrieving the medical gear. Satchel in one hand and rifle in the other, he trotted over to meet them.

"Samuel, we made some friends!" Cutter grinned shakily, supporting nearly all of the woman's weight. "This is James and Sarah and Dioji."

"Don't shoot him," Claw growled, "says he's a doctor. If he's lying, _then_ you shoot him."

"Well then." Samuel scrutinized James carefully. "What happened out there?" He helped lower Claw to the ground, not taking his eyes off the man.

"Long story short-" Claw drew a sharp breath through gritted teeth, "him and his dog got in the way, took care of most of the pack, then he got himself ambushed by the bastard that wanted to eat me. I killed it, so he's gonna patch me up."

"You brought medical supplies?" James' tone was curt and professional. Samuel handed them over, watching him mistrustfully.

"Sarah, you stay by Dioji. Right by him, understand?"

"Yes, daddy." As soon as she was lowered to the ground, she clung to the dog's neck, watching her father with wide eyes.

"All right," James knelt beside her, "let's get your armor off."

"No," Claw groaned. "Just the arm, it unbuckles under the shoulder."

James frowned. "If you've got any broken ribs, they need immediate attention. There's the possibility of puncturing an organ."

"No broken ribs," she said through gritted teeth. "Just the arm and the head. I know what a broken rib feels like."

Without further comment, James began to remove the sleeve of the armor. Cutter crouched by her shoulder, bobbing up and down with nervous energy. At the sight of her arm, the boy blanched.

The area between her shoulder and elbow was horribly swollen and already turning various shades of black and purple, coated by the dark, nearly-brown red of drying blood. A good portion of the armor was unsalvageable; the wolf's razor sharp fangs had torn it to ribbons.

James pulled out a syringe of Med-X, then gave the end a few sharp flicks. He depressed the plunger slightly, taking out a tiny air bubble, and injected the contents into the crook of Claw's elbow. After a few seconds, she relaxed visibly, eyes sliding shut.

"Oh thank _god_," she groaned, letting her head loll to the side as James began to examine her arm.

"Well, it seems to be a clean break," he prodded the swollen tissue gently, "you're very lucky. By all rights, the bones should be completely crushed."

"Lucky." The woman snorted half-heartedly. "Fine, we'll call it that."

"Your shoulder's dislocated as well," James continued, "but should be fine once I get it back in place."

"Stop talking about it and fucking fix me." Claw snapped. "I told you, I'm on a tight schedule."

The man pursed his lips. "Cutter, I'll need some help. Hold her shoulders, tightly, please. I don't want to have to do this twice."

After the boy had a firm hold on her, James took her upper arm in a strong grip, and yanked. Claw groaned through gritted teeth as her shoulder snapped back into place with a loud, wet pop. Samuel couldn't help but cringe sympathetically.

She barely choked back a scream when James set her bone. Spike, standing unnecessarily close to the man, scowled with considerable venom and gripped the stock of his rifle until his knuckles turned white.

"Careful, fuckwad," he snapped.

James ground his teeth, but remained silent. Claw glared through one eye at Spike, the other still clenched shut.

"Get out of here, I am not in the mood to listen to your /fucking voice right now. Make yourself useful for a change and start packing."

"Boss, I ain't leaving you alone with this Brahmin's ass." The young man scowled ferociously at the back of James' head. "He smells like trouble and I don't like his fuckin' face."

"Like _I'm_ the idiot." The look she gave him could have peeled paint. "Samuel and Cutter are staying, but I swear to god, if I hear another word out of your mouth I will go completely batshit _insane_, so go. Fucking. **Pack**."

Spike shrugged one shoulder, still scowling at James. "This one's gonna be on you, boss."

"**_Go_**!" Claw shrieked, pounding her good fist against the ground in fury. Spike's face split into a lopsided grin. He shrugged again, spun on his heel and headed toward the camp.

"Thank you," James said flatly as Spike moved out of audible range.

"Cutter, get me a cigarette," she pressed her left hand to her eyes, "before I shoot myself."

The boy complied quickly, and helped her light it with a few quick strikes of a match.

"Those are terrible for you," James commented dryly.

"So's booze and mercenary work." She exhaled a long stream of smoke. "No one likes a quitter. Go easy on the Stims, I just need it to work, the rest can heal up on its own."

James worked on her for a good fifteen minutes, while Samuel and Cutter kept a wary eye on the pair. The oldest boy didn't trust him, but had decided he at least wasn't lying about having medical skills.

"I'm telling you," the man in question had been arguing with Claw for some time, "a third Stimpak wouldn't be a 'waste'. You're still pretty torn up, I could only stitch so much."

"It's _fine_," she told him with more than a hint of exasperation. "It hardly even hurts anymore."

"Because you're on Med-X, how many times do I-" James threw up his hands. "Animal bites are a breeding ground for filth. You're begging for an infection."

"I'll clean it up later." The woman gave her elbow an experimental flex, lip curling. "It's ugly, but it works. We already used more than I expected to go through in a week, so leave _my_ Stims alone."

"Seems like a stupid thing to be cheap about," Samuel interjected, equal parts exasperated and incredulous. "I think you've lost it. If you get an infection, we'll be wasting a lot more than one Stimpak. What the hell is wrong with you? First the Brahmin, now a fucking _Stim_, are you trying to save money or commit suicide?"

"Fuck you, kid," she snapped, "_I know what I'm doing."_

"Do you?" Samuel took a step forward, his voice rising. "My dad said the same thing, but we haven't been out two days and everything almost went to shit. You're goddamn lucky to be alive," the young man was nearly yelling, "and luck isn't gonna get us to Hudson!"

"Hey, leave her alone!" Cutter was on his feet, fists raised. "It wasn't her fault, that kind of stuff happens all the time out-"

"No," Claw held up a hand, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He's right."

Samuel felt his jaw drop.

"I can't _think_ with these headaches," the woman continued, clutching her eyes, "I've been fucking _stupid_ over and over again, how could I..." She drew a quick breath. "When it goes away, I'll be fine. I just need some sleep."

"Can you describe the pain?" James asked crisply, moving her hand and forcing one of her eyelids open.

"It hurts like an unholy son of a bitch, any other stupid questions?"

The man's eyes flicked skyward.

"Is it in the base, the middle, or the front of your head? Throbbing, steady or stabbing?"

"My eyes and my forehead. Feels like I'm getting stabbed in the eyeball over and over."

"And it's exacerbated by light and noise, yes?"

"Huh?"

James spoke slowly and deliberately. "Light and loud noises make it worse."

"Yeah." Claw scowled at his tone. "Can you do something about it or what?"

"Definitely a migraine." He had finished examining her eye, and pressed the tips of two fingers against the inner edges of her eyebrows. "Do you get them often?"

"I didn't used to. More in the last few months."

"Could be any number of causes." The man began working his fingers in a circular motion, pressing down with moderate force. "Have you noticed any pattern to them?"

"Not really," she replied, scowling ferociously at the contact. "What are you doing?"

"Pressure points," James explained. "There are several more, and it should help alleviate the pain until the Med-X takes care of it. I'm surprised it hasn't helped already."

"Oh, it's helping," Claw said, "but sleeping is the only thing that really gets rid of them."

"You get them more when you get mad," Cutter piped up. "Like when Spike trashed the shack."

"Has your stress level increased recently?" James asked, moving his fingers to her temples.

"I'm constantly stressed," Claw told him with exasperation, "it kind of comes with my line of work. I'm always short on caps, I've got two kids to feed and clothe, and one of them is an idiot."

"Then I'm afraid you're probably going to keep getting them." James dropped his hands. "Can you sit up?"

"Yeah," Claw said, pushing herself up with a grimace. "I think you're wasting your time," she continued as James placed his thumbs at the base of her skull, "It's not doing anything."

"Just give me a minute," he told her, continuing the motions while the woman squirmed uncomfortably.

"I'm telling you," she grumbled as he returned to the base of her skull, "it's not...oh my god." Her mouth went slack, and Samuel chuckled at the look of intense surprise on her face. "It's gone." Her face broke into a wide grin. "It's fucking gone!"

"Excellent." James made one more round on her head, and Claw was considerably more still through the process. "Now," he gave her a stern look, "how about that third Stimpak?"

Claw ground her teeth and scowled at him. "Fine," she snapped, "But I still think it's a waste. I've healed from worse."

"And we're all _very_ impressed." James managed to keep all but the barest threads of sarcasm from his voice. "Now hold still. There's a lot of shredded skin and it's going to itch terribly."

The woman thumbed one of her earrings while he swiftly administered the medicine. She had an odd look on her face, and her eyes kept darting toward James, then down at the ground.

"There we are," the man nodded in satisfaction, "keep it clean and covered for a few days. It shouldn't give you much trouble, just don't scratch."

"I know." Claw prodded the area with her fingertips experimentally, pushed herself to her feet, and nodded at Samuel and Cutter. "Come on, boys. We need to get moving." She gave James a brief glance, unwilling to look him in the eye. "Good luck out there, James. Thanks for the help."

The man rose up as well, hands clenching briefly and instantly relaxing.

"I believe we had a deal to discuss," he said, voice carefully neutral.

"Nope," Claw told him curtly. "If you follow the road, you'll hit the outpost by nightfall. If you go straight south, it'll cut about four hours off the trip. You'd also have to go through Raider territory, so I suggest sticking to the road."

James scowled at her.

"You can't tell me there haven't been countless times you could have used a well-trained doctor. Or do you expect to reach your destination without a spot of trouble?"

"Too late for that," the woman grumbled, picking up the shredded remains of her arm protection. "Here's the way I see it." She finally met his eyes. "I could've fixed my own arm, but you kind of owed me for saving your life. Now I know about the pressure points, too, so we'll call it even and go our separate ways."

"I don't understand." James stared back incredulously. "There's no risk to you. If we can't keep up, so be it. We won't be using any of your supplies, I'm willing to patch you up any time there's trouble, and you get an extra gun. _Why_?"

"Honestly?" Claw turned and began walking. "My gut says _you're_ trouble, and dipshit doesn't like your face." A smirk twitched at half of her mouth, then instantly fell back to a scowl. "Don't follow me. I catch you around, I'll shoot you."

"_We_ will," Samuel corrected her with a scowl. "I'm having enough trouble with my _hired _help, I don't need him making more problems." The young man shrugged at James. "Nothing personal."

He followed after Claw, pausing when he noticed Cutter hadn't joined them. He was looking back and forth between Claw and James with increasing agitation, opening and closing his mouth as though he wanted to say something.

"Cutter, let's go," Claw called over her shoulder. "If I don't get back soon he's going to break something, and I'm too tired to handle it."

"We should let them come," the boy finally spoke.

Claw stopped, and rolled her eyes dramatically.

"_No_," she told him with a tone that brooked no argument.

"Why?" Cutter demanded, voice rising. "Everything he said's true, and we're gonna need a doctor sooner or later. What if something really bad happens? What if-" His voice broke, and he took a quick breath. "What if you're not so lucky next time?"

"I'll lose out on a lot of money." She waved impatiently. "We both know _that's_ not going to happen, so quit fucking worrying so much and get over here. I'm fucking tired, I'm still sore, I'm still pissed, and god damn it now I don't have time to sleep, so I just want to eat something so we can **get moving**."

"You're not making any sense again!" the boy cried, stomping his foot in frustration. "Tell me why it's a bad idea! Give me one good reason!"

"Because I don't want to get killed in my sleep," Claw snapped, "and I cannot believe you are making me take the time to have this discussion."

"There's four of us and one of him." His voice trembled slightly.

"_Two_ of them." She yanked her thumb at the dog. "That thing killed two full-grown wolves by itself. I don't want it around, I don't want _him_ around, it's too fucking convenient and I don't like it."

"Samuel, please." The boy stared at him pleadingly. "We could really use a doctor and he knows what he's doing, she's just being bitchy because she's tired." Cutter glared at the woman.

"Hell no, kid." Samuel shrugged. He was too tired and aggravated to even feign sympathy. "The dumb broad's right this time. We need to go."

Claw looked absolutely furious, her expression making the boy drop his eyes. "_Cutter_," she snarled, "get. The _fuck_. Over here, before I lose the rest of my patience and your face ends up like dipshit's."

Cutter shut his mouth with a snap, face turning bright red. He gave James a long, sad look, then ran toward their campsite, refusing to look anywhere near Claw's direction. She rolled her eyes again and trudged after him, sparing James one final glance.

"Don't follow us," she told him again, voice now hollow and exhausted. "We really will shoot you."

As though he'd understood every word, Dioji began to growl low in his throat. The little girl threw herself around James' legs, eyes wide and frightened.

"You don't hurt my daddy, lady! You leave him alone!"

"I don't wanna shoot anyone, kid." Claw's frown grew more sad than angry. "So you make sure your daddy heads for the outpost, huh? Hey, do you know your directions? North and south?"

"Yes," Sarah replied proudly. "We're going north."

"Well you make sure you go south now, ok?" She tried to glare at James, but the effort was half-hearted. "Because _we're_ going north, and I don't wanna kill anyone. I really, really don't. But I've done it before, I'm sure I'll do it again, and it would be awfully stupid to make me when you can just leave."

"_Please_, listen to the boy," James begged. "Have I given you a reason to mistrust me?"

Claw snorted. "Where do I start? You're too clean, you're too fucking polite, you know too many big words, and you've got a little kid with you." She didn't even bother turning her head as she kept walking. "If I had more time and more people, I might give you a shot, but I don't. So go away."

Samuel shrugged at James, emphasizing the rifle across his back. "Talk to Brian when you get there. He'll be able to help you find some mercs."

The man dropped his head, remaining silent. Samuel watched him for another moment, then trotted to catch up to Claw. She gave him a forced, haggard smile.

"Well. It's been an interesting start to the trip, huh?"

Samuel snorted.

"Yeah. Real interesting. Look, be honest with me, does this kind of shit happen to you a lot?"

She barked out a laugh.

"The near-death experiences? More than I'd like. Mysterious doctors roaming the Waste with kids? Not so much."

"He's trouble," Samuel muttered, glancing back over his shoulder. James hadn't moved, though his dog and daughter were now standing at his side.

"Obviously." Claw waved the young man on. "So let's get some distance between us. If you see him again, give him a warning shot. He did sort of save my life."


End file.
